


The Holidays

by scarletjedi



Series: postsecret 'verse [5]
Category: Glee
Genre: Coming Out, Complete, Holidays, M/M, alternate season 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-29
Updated: 2012-08-27
Packaged: 2017-11-06 05:48:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 77,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/415427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarletjedi/pseuds/scarletjedi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For all their joy and celebration, the holidays are the most stressful time of year.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dead Man's Party

**Author's Note:**

> A heartfelt thank you to my wonderful beta, proxydialgue, who doesn't watch glee, but ships "Kurfluffsky" because of me :)
> 
> And three cheers for raving_liberal, who tool a moment out of her busy big bang schedule to make my my awesome icon. you ROCK. 
> 
> You'll notice that this is a WIP. I hate to do this, but this story is too big to not do in sections. I don't know how many chapters this will be, but it will span the time from Halloween to New Years. Each chapter will be (mostly) complete in and of it

  


It all started at the GSA Halloween party.   
  
Well, it started before that, but in retrospect, if Dave were to put a finger on when “it” started, he’d say the GSA Halloween party, every time.   
  
Kurt had gotten permission from his and Finn’s parents, and announced that there would be a party at the Casa de Hudson-Hummel on Halloween, and that anyone in the club was invited. They could bring guests as long as they promised to follow club rules. No drugs, Brett. No booze, Puck. Costumes a must.   
  
Dave didn’t usually dress up for Halloween. He had a “bloodstained” jumpsuit and a plastic hockey mask that he’d pulled out for the last few years when going to one of the “popular” parties. The jumpsuit was comfortable, and nobody could see his face behind the mask; it was perfect. But it seemed wrong, somehow, to wear that to the GSA party. Which meant making or buying a costume. Dave thought; they didn’t really make costumes ready-made for his size, not that would last the night, anyway. Maybe he could make one that  _looked_ like he bought it.   
  
Admitting the baking was one thing. Admitting that he knew his way around a sewing machine was another thing  _entirely._ And--no. Just, no.   
  
But it wasn’t the costume itself that started the trouble. It was that Dave hadn’t thought twice about going to the party. So, when Az stopped him in the locker room after practice and said:  
  
“Hey man, don’t forget--Party at mine Saturday. It’s gonna be sick!”   
  
Dave froze. _Shit,_ he thought. “Dude,” he said. “I already--the GSA’s hosting a Halloween party. I already said I’d be there, I mean, I’m kinda in charge. I have to be there.”   
  
“Wait,” Az said. “What? You choosing Hummel over me?”   
  
“No,” Dave said, “It’s just--”  
  
“Just nothing!” Az said. “Man what is with you? You been weird all semester. First all this PC crap; huggy feely gay shit. Then I find out you been lyin’ to me--”  
  
“Would you want to admit you love baking?”   
  
“And now this?” Az said. “I’m your  _best friend,_ asshole. Where the fuck are you?”   
  
“Right here,” Dave said, quiet. “I’m right here.”   
  
“Naw, man,” Az said. He shook his head. “Whatever. Go to your little fag party.”  
  
“Az--”   
  
_“What?”_ Az snapped, glaring. Dave swallowed; he felt like he was at a turning point, like if he didn’t say the right thing--he sighed.   
  
“I’ll try and stop by.”   
  
Az snorted. “Don’t do me any fucking favors,” he said, and walked away. Dave watched him go; once he was out of eyesight, Dave slumped onto the bench.   
  
“Shit.”  
  
***  
  
Dave sat in his room, thinking. He could stop by Az’s party before heading over to Kurt’s, but-- Az’s parties didn’t start until late, and if he showed up early and didn’t drink, well, that’d be worse than not going at all. So he’d start at Kurt’s. If it was lame, he could leave early, but Az’s party would probably still be going when the GSA party ended, so he’d just go over then.   
  
And if he ended up not going, well--  
  
Dave sighed. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to go, except, that was exactly it. He didn’t want to go to Az’s party, where he’d have to hide, fuck,  _everything_ from _everybody._ At least at Kurt’s, a few people knew the truth. And the others wouldn’t press if Dave didn’t try to drunkenly hook up with a Cheerio. Dave knew he would enjoy himself more if he just went to Kurt’s.   
  
He let his head thud against his computer desk.  _Wonderful._ It wasn’t even the end of October, and already his carefully constructed world was starting to crack.   
  
For a brief moment, Dave considered saying  _fuck it,_ ditching the GSA party and sucking it up and reclaiming some of his cool at Az’s parties. Dave had gotten as far as thinking that, as long as he kept his mouth shut, he could make out with a chick and pretend it was just a girly boy, before he shook himself.   
  
No. Dave wasn’t going to do that anymore. Baby steps forward, yes, but no steps back. That was his only rule. So, he’d better man up and figure out what he was going to wear.   
  
_God, that sounded so gay,_ Dave thought, then shook his head. _Who the fuck are you trying to kid, Dave. Yeah, it’s gay, but so the fuck are you, and you want it, so own it._   
  
Dave opened his web browser and searched for costume patterns. Yeah, he’d be making his own, but damn if it wasn’t going to be manly and badass.   
  
Finding the costume was relatively easy, even after losing nearly half an hour to  [ 3wishes.com ](http://www.3wishes.com/menswear.asp) ’s *ahem* costume page. When Dave finally did stumble across the right image (very much *not* one of 3wishes), he smiled. _Hmm,_ he thought.  _That doesn’t look too difficult._   
  
Doing some quick calculations, Dave placed his order for the pattern, overnighting it from Amazon.com. He didn’t have a game on Saturday, and there was a JoAnne’s fabric near his Gram’s. He’d call and see if he could borrow Papa’s machine this weekend.   
  
And hey, if he made it well enough, he’d have two default costumes to choose from. So, you know, bonus.   
  
Dave paused, and searched through his history for the 3wishes costume page. For, you know, later reference.  _“Fantasy Island” is right, hot damn!_   
  
***  
  
Papa Karofsky had worked as a tailor for over forty years, until his failing eyesight, and an intermittent tremor in his left hand, meant that he could no longer thread a needle. He’d retired, selling his shop to his apprentice, but kept his machine in his workshop at home. Because of this, growing up, Dave always had a supply of expertly tailored clothing, and until he got the jumpsuit to further his persona of “average straight teenager,” Papa’d made his Halloween costume every year. As Dave pulled into their driveway, several overstuffed bags of fabric, zipper, buttons, batting, and the like on the seat next to him.   
  
Dave was glad the fabric store was so far away from Lima; he could and had explained away the baking, but it didn’t matter how badass his costume would be, dudes weren’t supposed to know about this shit. Which, because of Papa, never made sense to Dave. Like, the way cooking was “women’s work,” but all the Iron Chefs were men. Whatever.   
  
Gram opened the door as he walked up and waved Dave inside. “Thank goodness you’re here,” she said. “Your Papa’s driving me crazy. He’s been upstairs with his machine all day, doing God knows what. Give him something to do before he sews his fingers together.”   
  
Dave laughed, and kissed her cheek as he passed. “I’ll do what I can,” he said. “But I might end up the one stitched together.”   
  
Gram tisked, and waved him on. “You’re better than that, and you know it.”   
  
Dave grinned, and climbed up the stairs to his grandfather’s sewing room. Their house was the one main source of conflict between Paul and Helen (Dave’s aunt) and Gram and Papa; too many stairs, too isolated, not designed for aging bodies. Gram and Papa said it was none of their damn business, and to stop trying to fix things that weren’t broke.   
  
Whenever Dave went up the stairs, he agreed with his father; they creaked under his weight, and the banister wobbled just enough to make him worry. But, like every time before, the staircase held, and Dave went left at the top of the stairs and into the sewing room.   
  
There was a dressmaker’s dummy in one corner, and two clothing racks from target against the far wall. The sewing machine was set up near the south window, to get as much sun as possible, and there was a large flat table in the middle of the room. An ironing board was hung on the back of the door, and the iron rested on a shelf next to the door. Papa was seated at the sewing machine, looking over his glasses and through a giant lighted magnifying glass on a stand, like the kind you find in fingerhut catalogues, and trying to thread the machine.   
  
“Hey, Papa,” Dave called. Papa looked up, head angled to look through the glasses perched on the edge of his nose. He had a cushion of pins strapped to his wrist, and an ancient measuring tape around his neck.   
  
“Davey! Come in, come in. Get out your pattern; what are we making?” Papa stood, and Dave put the bags on the table. He pulled the pattern out from where he had stashed it, and handed it to Papa.   
  
“Good, good,” Papa muttered, and pulled the measuring tape from his neck. “Take off your jacket,” he said. Dave slipped his letterman off, and Papa shook his head. “When are you going to start wearing clothes that fit?” Dave rolled his eyes; he’d been hearing that for years.   
  
“They do fit,” he said.   
  
“No, they don’t,” Papa said. “They’re too big.”   
  
“Yes, Papa,” Dave said, and Papa glared, but there was no heat.   
  
“Come closer,” Papa said, and began to wrap the tape around Dave, already distracted as he jotted down the measurements on a little notepad.  
  
A little over an hour later, when Gram poked her head into the room, bringing with her a plate of warm cookies, they had completed the pants, Papa was stitching the shirt, and Dave was at the table, cutting the material for his jacket. Dave wondered around a mouthful of cookie if his grandparents weren’t competing in some way; since Dave was the only grandchild they had to pass their talents on to, if there weren’t both trying to impress on him that their skills were the better to adapt. Dave wasn’t going to lie, he was definitely on the side of cookies. But having a custom made pirate costume, complete with a flashy captains jacket, was pretty sweet.   
  
***

  
Az was barely speaking to him. He still saved him a seat in History, so he still considered them friends, but he wouldn’t seek Dave out for conversation, and the one time they had to partner up, Dave had ended up with Susan Hollis, not Az.   
  
Tuesday’s GSA meeting was dedicated to finalizing the plans for the party. It would be held at the Hudson-Hummel house. Mr. and Mrs. Hummel would be home for the party, though they would probably remain upstairs. It would start at 7, and end at midnight. Anybody who stayed that late, would help clean up. Those who wished could spend the night. Everyone would bring something, according to the party sign up sheet that was passed around. As hosts, Kurt and Finn (and by extension their parents) were springing for pizzas. Dave signed up for cupcakes, and was warmed by the way Kurt’s eyes lit up when he looked over the sheet.   
  
“What kind?” Kurt asked, sitting next to him. Dave shrugged.   
  
“Don’t know. I’m thinking a batch of chocolate, a batch of vanilla, and maybe a batch of other? I make a pretty good spice cake.”   
  
Kurt made a sound suspiciously like a whimper, and Dave chuckled. “Spice cake cupcakes it is.”   
  
“I’m going to weigh 500 pounds, and I’m not even going to care.” Dave laughed, and Kurt nudged his shoulder. “Have you picked a costume, yet?” he asked. Dave nodded.   
  
“Yeah. Got it last weekend.” Kurt looked at Dave. “What?”   
  
“What is it?”   
  
Dave shook his head. “Nuh uh, not telling.”   
  
Kurt nudge him again. “Come on.”   
  
“Nope.”   
  
Mock pouting, Kurt humphed. “Spoilsport.”   
  
“Well,” Dave said. “Tell me what you’re going to be, and I’ll tell you.”   
  
Kurt gave Dave an arch look. “It’s a surprise.”   
  
“Well,” Dave said. “There you have it.”   
  
“Fine,” Kurt said. “But if we have the same costume, it’ll be your fault.”   
  
“I’ll take that risk,” Dave said, and nudge Kurt back. “I wouldn’t worry, Fancy. Even if we have the same costume, i’m sure you will pull off the look better than I will, anyway.”   
  
Kurt preened. “Of course. I make everything fabulous."   
  
***  
  
Halloween fell on a Monday, which meant the town decided that Halloween was actually on the 29th, that Saturday. Dave woke up earlier than his usual after his game on Friday, and went to the store before heading over to Gram’s. His costume was still there, mostly because Papa wanted to do the finishing touches today, while the cupcakes were cooling. The plan was to bake, dress, ice, then help them hand out candy until it was time to leave.   
  
Kurt had told Dave to come over a little early, to help set up. Dave had agreed, even though he was a little leary of being in that house without the buffer of the party. The last time he had seen Mr. Hummel was in the principal’s office, and he wasn’t very keen to repeat the experience. Kurt had noticed his hesitation, and told Dave that Burt wasn’t angry anymore; that Kurt had been telling him of the work he and Dave had been doing together with the GSA. He said that, while Burt had his initial misgivings, he was willing to accept that Dave really had turned over a new leaf.   
  
Dave knew there had to be more to the story, but Kurt wouldn’t say anything more about it.   
  
It didn’t do anything to ease his nerves when he pulled up in front of Kurt’s house. The cupcakes were on the seat next to him, his costume folded over them, to keep them from sliding around. The front door opened as Dave was trying to balance three dozen cupcakes in his arms (he figured he’d come back for the costume), and he heard Kurt call out:   
  
“That can’t be your costume.”   
  
Dave turned, kicking the door shut. Kurt was dressed like he usually was, well, he was more casual than usual in skinny jeans and a tee shirt, but he wasn’t wearing a costume yet. “Nah,” he said. “It’s still in the truck.” He lowered his voice as he got closer. “I figured I’d change after set up.”   
  
“Good plan,” Kurt said, and reached out for the cupcakes. “I’ll take these.”  
  
Dave smirked. “You just want me for my baked goods.”   
  
“Not true,” Kurt said. “I also want you for your tall and strength.” He led Dave inside and into the kitchen. “Come on in and say hello.”   
  
Mrs. H was in the kitchen, looking a lot like she had the last time Dave had seen her, which was, wow, middle school. He was shorter than he remembered, and a bit more stylish; Kurt’s influence, he supposed. She looked up from what she was doing, unwrapping decorations, and smiled at him.   
  
“David,” she said. “Look at you; you’ve gotten so big.” She put the decorations down and walked around the table to give him a hug. “I saw you at the game last week, but it’s different seeing you up close.”   
  
“Uh, thanks, Mrs. H,” Dave said, gently patting her back. She held on a little longer than Dave was expecting, squeezing him tighter. It was as if she could tell how nervous he was to be in this house. It had to be some mom thing; the ability to tell when somebody needs a hug. He tightened his fingertips briefly against her back in thanks.   
  
“Dave brought cupcakes,” Kurt cold Mrs. H, and put them on the table. “Make sure Finn doesn’t get into them? And--what kind of frosting, Dave?”  
  
“Uh, vanilla and chocolate buttercream and cream cheese.”   
  
“Dad can have  _one_ but no more, and he  _knows_ that.”  
  
“I’m sure he does,” Mrs. H said. “Why don’t you show Dave what still needs to be done.”   
  
“Right,” Kurt said. “This way.” He led Dave to the living room. It was a bigger room, looking like a warm version of one of those magazine display rooms. There were several bags of decorations on the coffee table, filled with what looked to be a little of everything in the store. “The party’s going to be on this floor, in this room and out on the back patio. Luckily, it’s looking to be a nice night.”   
  
“Even if the temperature does drop,” Dave said, “Enough people in here, and it’ll be a relief.”   
  
“True,” Kurt said. “Okay. So, Finn is with Dad at the shop, and they’ll be home in about an hour. I want to get as much done before they do. As nice as it is to have Finn’s height, he is surprisingly clumsy off the field.”   
  
“I know, I’ve seen him dance,” Dave said.  
  
Kurt snickered, then tried to look stern. “It really isn’t funny. He’s trying his best.”   
  
“He gets props for doing it for an audience,” Dave said, and resisted the urge to poke around the shelf of DVDs. It was hard; now that he was here, he wanted to _know._ “But sometimes, he still looks like he’s having a seizure.”   
  
Kurt whacked his arm with a plastic bone. “Be nice, and help me move the couch back.”   
  
“Sir, yes sir!” Dave saluted and grinned when Kurt rolled his eyes, but dutifully lifted and moved whatever Kurt pointed to.   
  
Once the furniture was where Kurt wanted it, he began directing the decorations; even enlisting Mrs. H to help set things up. When Mr. H and Hudson finally came home, Dave was wrapped in red velvet so dark it looked black, holding even more up to the wall, as Kurt stood back to look with a critical eye. Mrs. H stopped what she was doing, wrapping orange lights around the railings on their back deck, to come in and greet her husband.   
  
Hudson stood behind Kurt, mimicking Kurt’s pose, and looking at Dave with an exaggerated thoughtful look on his face. Dave wouldn’t say he and Hudson were friends, really, but they had lost the low-level antagonism that had surrounded them since middle school. So when Hudson goofed around, like now, Dave found it harder and harder not to laugh.   
  
“Just because you’re behind me, doesn’t mean I don’t know what you’re doing,” Kurt said. “If you can stand around, you can help. We need the spiderwebs put up.” When Finn didn’t move fast enough, Kurt snapped. “Now, Finn!”   
  
“Alright, okay,” Finn said, and grabbed a bag of webbing off the table. He started at the shelving unit next to where Dave was still holding the decorations. “Karofsky,” Hudson nodded at him with a grin, and Dave smiled back.   
  
“Hudson,” Dave said.   
  
He leaned in to say in a low voice that Dave thought was supposed to be a whisper, “You been at this a while?”   
  
“‘bout an hour.” Dave said. He was glad he hadn’t come in costume; it would be a total mess by now.   
  
Hudson nodded, then asked, hopeful “You bring cupcakes?”   
  
Dave snorted, nodding, and Kurt snapped. “Less chatter, more webs!” Hudson’s eyes went wide, and he starting putting twice the webs up. Dave almost felt sorry for him; between Kurt and Berry, he had no chance. “Can I put my arms down?” Dave asked, “Or am I part of the decor, now?”   
  
“Tempting,” Kurt said. “With the right drapery, you could pull off ‘Greek Statue Chic.’”   
  
Dave rolled his eyes. _As if anyone’d want to see my hairy ass in a sheet._ “It would have save a lot of effort; I could have just come as a column.”   
  
“So, not Greek, Roman, or column, then.” Kurt said. Dave laughed.   
  
“Are you still trying to figure out my costume? You’ll see it in a little bit.”   
  
Kurt pouted. Dave was pretty sure it was fake. Mostly fake. “It’s not the same. I want to guess.”   
  
“It’s not that hard,” Dave said, and put his arm down, rotating his shoulder; it was starting to cramp.   
  
“Looks good,” Mr. H said, coming over to stand by Kurt. Dave had to agree. Most of the light bulbs had been swapped for electric candelabras, the tabled had been draped with old lace tablecloths, the punchbowl was surrounded by plastic bones, and the mantelpiece looked like an altar. It looked, in all honesty, more like a movie set than a living room decorated in an hour.   
  
“I need to borrow your assistant for a second, Kurt,” Mr. H said, looking at Dave. Dave nodded, swallowing his nerves, and Hudson took the fabric from him. Dave nodded his thanks, and followed Mr. H into the kitchen. Kurt mouthed “it’ll be okay,” at him as Dave passed, and Dave wished he shared Kurt’s optimism.   
  
Mr. H pulled a beer from the ‘fridge and gestured for Dave to take a seat at the table. Dave did, wishing he wasn’t so big; he felt like--well--like a trained bear performing tricks on a tricycle. “So,” Mr. H began, “Last time I saw you wasn’t in the best of circumstances.”   
  
“No, sir,” Dave said, forcing himself not to look down. He had a feeling Mr. H would be the kind of man to appreciate that sort of thing.   
  
Mr. H pushed the brim of his hat up, and sat back in the chair. “I was a bit leery when Kurt first mentioned that you’d be working together.” Dave closed his eyes for a long beat, turning his head away. But he looked back to open them. “But I have to admit, I’ve seen and heard nothing since then to show Kurt was wrong to trust you. I’m glad you’re here.”   
  
_What?_ That wasn’t quite what he had expected to hear. Mr. H sighed.   
  
“Look, kid. David,” Mr. H leaned in. “Teenagers can be pretty stupid, sometimes, I get that. They can get pretty twisted up about simple things, let alone the big issues. I was one, a stupid one. And I’m raising another who is still getting over a case of the stupid,” He must have been talking about Hudson, Dave could never imagine Kurt having “a case of the stupid” for anything. He’d always assumed being in Glee was what turned Hudson’s attitude around, but know he was sure he was missing part of the story. “Part of being young is being able to overcome stupid, and I’m glad you were able to.”   
  
“So am I,” Dave said, quietly.   
  
Mr. H drank his beer, and pointed the neck at Dave. “As much as I trust my son, he’s all I had for a long time; I would tear apart heaven and earth to keep him safe. But you got lucky things stopped when they did, and that my son’s as forgiving as he is.”   
  
“I know that, sir.”   
  
“Do you.” Mr. H pressed.   
  
Dave took a deep breath and held Mr. H’s eyes. “Yes, I do. You’re right; I was pretty messed up last year. If not for Kurt, I’d probably still be. Your son’s an amazing person.”   
  
“I know,” Mr. H said. “The world would be a better place if more people realized that.”   
  
Dave risked a small smile. “We’re working on it.”   
  
“Good,” Mr. H said, and stood, walking to stand next to Dave. He clapped a hand on Dave’s shoulder, leaning down to say in his ear with a mild voice: “If I hear even a whisper of a threat from you towards my kid again, I’ll be coming after you with my shotgun, we clear?”   
  
Dave nodded once, sharp. “Crystal, sir.”   
  
“Good.” Mr. H squeezed once and let go, standing. “Call me Burt.”   
  
“Thank you, sir. Uh, Burt.”   
  
Burt smiled, patted Dave’s shoulder, and went upstairs. Kurt poked his head into the kitchen.   
  
“You okay?”   
  
“Yeah,” Dave said. “I just know where you get your scary from now.”   
  
Kurt snorted. “My Dad isn’t scary.”   
  
“Yeah,” Dave said. “Tell that to my knees.”   
  
Hudson leaned around the doorframe, his head lines up above Kurt’s like they used to in old cartoons. “Did you just get a Burt-Talk?” At Dave’s nod, Hudson said. “It’s scary, right?”   
  
“Oh, for--” Kurt protested. “He’s not scary!”  
  
“Not to you!” Hudson said. “You’re scarier.”   
  
“I am--Dave, am I scary?” Kurt asked.   
  
Dave nodded, solemnly. “Terrifying.”   
  
Kurt threw up his hands. “I’m going to get into my costume. You both better do the same. People will be getting here, soon.” Hudson shifted from foot to foot. “What is it, Finn?”   
  
“Uh, Rachel’s bringing my costume.”   
  
Dave carefully bit his tongue to avoid saying anything. Kurt looked at Finn. “You let Rachel choose your costume?”   
  
“No,” Finn said. “You don’t let Rachel do anything. She just does it.”   
  
Dave covered his mouth, hoping he could hide the smile. Kurt covered his eyes. “Do you at least know what your costume is going to be?”   
  
Hudson shook his head. “I don’t understand you, Finn,” Kurt said. He turned to Dave. “The bathroom is down the hall on the left, for when you change.”   
  
“Thanks,” Dave said, and stood. Kurt looked at Hudson, opened his mouth to say something, stopped, shook his head, and stormed upstairs.   
  
Hudson followed Dave out to his truck. “Something on your mind?” Dave asked. He opened his truck and pulled out his clothes, tucking them under his arm. He slammed the door shut, and turned to Hudson, who was frowning like he was trying to think of the best way to say something. Dave felt something unpleasant roil in his gut; what the hell was Hudson up to?   
  
“I was talking to Kurt the other day,” Hudson began, “and I realized something. Well, two things. One, I need exfoliate more, whatever that means, I think it has something to do with plants. And two, I never apologized to you.”   
  
Dave frowned. “For what?”   
  
“For being a dick,” Hudson said. “I haven’t always been the nicest to you, and I’m sorry.”  
  
“For--” Dave shook his head. “Wait, for, like, what? Middle school?”   
  
Hudson shrugged, and nodded, looking a little bit like a kicked puppy. Something old and warm that was definitely  _not_ the dying remnants of a pre-adolescent crush, flared briefly in Dave’s chest. He shrugged it off, “Don’t worry about it,” Dave said. “Water under the bridge. Kids are stupid, yeah?”   
  
“Yeah,” Hudson said, sighing like it was a great weight off his chest, and who knew with Hudson, maybe it was. “That’s what I said. But Kurt said that didn’t mean an apology wouldn’t be nice to hear.”   
  
Dave smiled. He could hear Kurt in Hudson’s words. “Thanks, Hudson.”   
  
“Finn,” Hudson said. At Dave’s eyebrow, he said. “My team calls me Hudson. My friends call me Finn.” He held out a hand and Dave took it.   
  
“Dave,” he said.   
  
Finn grinned blinding bright, and it was a good thing Finn wasn’t his type, because that not-a-crush was hard enough to control as it was. “Awesome. I gotta go pick up Rachel,” he said. And there went the last of that crush; nothing could survive that sappy look when it was about Rachel Berry. “Tell Kurt for me?” Finn waved, got into his own truck, and drove off.   
  
Dave let himself back into the house, and walked down the hall to the bathroom. Soon, jeans and polo shirt had been replaced by black breeches and a long-sleeved black shirt, open at the chest, and with as little ruffle at the sleeves as Dave could convince Papa was necessary. A black sash tied tight around his waist, black gloves, and at last, the mask, tucked into his belt for now. He hadn’t shaved in the last few days, so he had a good coating of pirate-stubble. He tucked his bandana into his sash, and realized his sword and boots were still out in his truck.   
  
Dave looked at himself in the mirror. He looked pretty good. He could pick up the rest later, if he needed it. Nobody questioned the Dread Pirate Roberts.  
  
He emerged from the bathroom in time to hear Kurt call down the stairs, “Finn, can you give me a hand?”   
  
“He went to pick up Berry,” Dave called back.   
  
“He--of course he did. Can you help me, then?”   
  
“Uh, sure,” Dave said, and climbed the stairs to Kurt’s room. “Kurt?”   
  
“In here,” Kurt called from the room on Dave’s left. Dave pushed open the door, and stopped. Kurt was dressed in bright red and blue, like some cartoon prince, complete with a cape that swirled when he spun, and that crown _\--that fucking_ _crown_ _\--_ the  _Prom Queen Crown_ perched on top of his perfectly coiffed head.   
  
“Who--?” Dave managed, before he had to swallow back whatever emotion was pushing its way forward.   
  
“Well?” Kurt asked, twirling in place. “What do you think?”   
  
“You kept it,” Dave said before he could think, and he could bite his tongue off for the look that comment put on Kurt’s face; the soft oh of surprise, and the way his hand flew to gently touch the crown.   
  
“Of course I did,” Kurt said, softly. “I’m not going to let their narrow mindedness dictate my life. They crowed us royalty, Dave.” He grinned. “And I’m  _owning_ it.” Kurt hesitated just for a moment, and asked; “Will you be okay with that?”   
  
Dave met Kurt’s eyes; they were steady, proud like that had been at Prom, and hauty like Dave thought royalty should be. But Dave knew Kurt better now, he could see the hurt, and the way he was turning that hurt upside down and throwing it back in their faces, even if most of them wouldn’t see it happen. He thought of his own crown, hidden in the back of his closet underneath God knows what, and very deliberately smiled.   
  
“It suits you,” he said, not knowing how to say anything else, not knowing  _what_ to say. But Kurt smiled, ears pink, and Dave thought Kurt might had heard it anyway.   
  
“Thank you, Dave.” Kurt smiled and Dave gestured at the costume.   
  
“Prince Charming?” he guessed. Kurt snorted.   
  
“Almost. Prince Philip. From  _Sleeping Beauty,_ the Disney version, anyway . Much more handsome than Charming. And he sang.”   
  
Dave felt his eyes widen. “They have names?”   
  
Kurt laughed, just a little bit embarrassed. “Yes, they do. And I am ashamed to say, I know them all.”   
  
“I thought you didn’t do shame?” Dave said, and leaned against Kurt’s doorframe. “Besides, they’re all musicals, right? Makes sense that you’d know them.”   
  
“Still,” Kurt said. “It’s dorky enough for a girl to know the Princes’ names, but for someone like, well, me?” He shook his head.   
  
“So why the costume?” Dave asked.   
  
Kurt flushed again, this time with anger. “Before Blaine, I kept saying that I was waiting for my ‘Prince Charming’ to come and find me. When I met Blaine, I said that I had found my prince. Then, when dumped me, and everyone kept saying ‘but he was your ‘Prince Charming,’ when it was clear that charm was  all he had, I decided I wasn’t going to cast myself in the role of ‘princess’ any longer. I hate it when other people do it, it’s ridiculous for me to.” Kurt scowled at that, raising a fist, and letting it bounce against his thigh.   
  
“There’s nothing wrong with wanting to be swept off your feet,” Dave said. “You just need a different kind of prince.” He grinned. “One who romances other princes. I’d pay to see that Disney film.”   
  
Kurt snorted and looked Dave up and down, and Dave tried not to fidget. He knew Kurt was just looking at his costume, but it had been a long time since he had worn something this form fitting--his uniform didn’t count because, well,  _pads_ \--and it sure felt a hell of a lot like getting checked out.   
  
Kurt’s eyes lingered at Dave’s waist and he had a moment of panic, before he remembered the mask in his belt. Kurt’s eyes widened.   
  
“You’re the Dread Pirate Roberts!”   
  
“Admitted with pride,” Dave said, and bowed. Kurt came closer and inspected Dave’s sleeve.   
  
“This didn’t come from one of those Walmart bagged costumes.”   
  
“Nope,” Dave said.   
  
Kurt froze, and gave Dave a look that was half-glare, half-something Dave didn’t know and wasn’t sure he wanted to find out. “You  _didn’t make this yourself._ ” Kurt practically hissed.   
  
“No,” Dave said. He shifted. “My grandfather did. He’s made my costumes, like, my whole life. He’s a tailor. Was.”   
  
Kurt nodded, looking almost relieved, and Dave added; “Did you make yours?”   
  
“Of course,” Kurt said. He adjusted his crown in the mirror one more time, and grinned at Dave. “It’s a Kurt Hummel original.” He gestured towards the door. “Let’s head back downstairs before everyone arrives. You can leave your clothes in here, if you want.”   
  
“Thanks,” Dave said, and put his clothes on the seat of Kurt’s desk chair.   
  
The doorbell rang when Dave was halfway down the stairs, and he followed Kurt to the front, intending to sneak out and grab his boots. It was Santana, Brittany, and Quinn, dressed in a black catsuit, a white playboy bunny, and a black teddy with mouse ears. 

  
“Good God, you’re the Plastics,” Dave said.   
  
“You know  _Mean Girls?_ ” Kurt asked, surprised. Dave shrugged, and hoped he wasn’t blushing.   
  
“Watch yourself, Cubby,” Santana said as she passed, carrying bags of chips. “Your dork is showing.” Quinn had a tray of some kind of dip, and she smiled her head cheerleader smile at Kurt and Dave as she followed Santana.    


  
Brittany had bags of marshmallows, and they bounced against Kurt’s back as he hugged him tightly. “My prince!” she squealed. Kurt laughed, and kissed her cheek.   
  
“My--” Kurt looked her over. “What are you, exactly?”  
  
“I’m a mouse!” Brittany chirped. “See!” She pointed to her ears. Kurt nodded, eyes wide, and Dave had to leave before he started laughing. Karen was too perfect a costume for Brittany.   
  
Dave was sitting on the lowered gate of his truck, tugging on his second boot, when Finn’s truck pulled up. He saw blue feathers trailing behind Finn’s head, something bright pink in the passenger seat, and felt very, very sorry for Finn.   
  
Sure enough, when Finn got out of his truck, he was in head to toe blue; embroidered doublet, those puffy diaper pants, and some floppy monstrosity of a hat that had a gigantic feather off the back. Berry was tiny and pink and much more normal looking in a velveteen dress, and when she got out of the car, she put on one of those cone hats with the streamer.   
  
Dave hopped down from the bed of his truck, stomping for a moment to settle the boots on his feet, and strapped the sword to his waist. He took a moment to tie on his mask, and walked over to join Finn and Berry.   
  
Finn looked up when he got closer, and pointed at him with a grin. “You’re the Dread Pirate Roberts!”   
  
“Well, no one would be scared of the Dread Pirate Westley,” Dave said in response, and bumped fists with Finn. “And you are--”  
  
“We are those embodiments of eternal love, Romeo and Juliet,” Berry gushed, and looked up at Finn with googly eyes. Finn smiled back at her, all sap and sweetness, and Dave had to say it:   
  
“I thought  _Romeo and Juliet_ was a tragedy, not a romance.”   
  
“It’s very romantic!” Berry protested. “The lengths to which they’ll go for each other...”  
  
“Are extreme, yeah, but they’re also the age of most Freshman. I remember freshman year, everyone was dating each other for--like--a week and it was life and death then it was over and everyone had moved onto the next ‘romance.’ Romeo was in love with a different girl every other day. It’s was Juliet’s introduction to society, she didn’t know any other boys. How much do you think they really loved each other?”   
  
“They--what?” Rachel said.   
  
“Dude,” Finn said. “When did you learn that?”  
  
Dave rolled his eyes. “Mrs. Finch has been on a Shakespeare kick. No offense,” he said to Rachel. “I just really hate that play.”   
  
“None taken,” Rachel said. “I’m willing to look over your slight towards the play in light of your obvious knowledge of the subject matter. Everyone is entitled to his or her opinion, after all, and it would be wrong of me to dismiss your opinion as uninformed. However, we shall just have to agree to disagree.”   
  
“Yeah,” Dave said, “Totally.”   
  
Rachel stuck out her hand, and Dave shook it, nonplussed. Rachel grabbed Finn’s arm, and Finn led her inside. Dave watched them go, and shook his head.  _Un-be-lieveable._   
  
The guests started arriving in clumps after that. The Glee kids came in two main groups; Mike and Tina (dressed as Morpheus and Death from the _Sandman_ comics. Mike had pointed at Dave in recognition, while Tina had giggled and said: “Mawaige! Mawaige is what bwings up togewa...today.” to which Dave had answered, “My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die.”), arrived with Sam and Mercedes (dressed as Wash and Zoe from Firefly, obviously Sam’s choice, though Mercedes didn’t seem to mind. Sam had seen Dave and laughed, and they had played through the entire Miracle Max scene while Mercedes cooed over Kurt’s costume), and Puck showed up in the van with Artie (dressed as, believe it or not, Magneto and Professor X. Artie cried out “Inconceivable,” and Dave, quite happy to do this all night, said, “You keep using this word. I don’t think it means what you think it means).   
  
“Dude,” Dave said to Puck, as he held the door, “Sweet costume.”   
  
“What better way for a Badass Jew to dress, than as another Badass Jew, right?” Puck said, fanning his cape out. “My boy Artie and I decided we’d make this party a Hal-bro-ween party, and come as Magnetbro, and Brofessor X.”   
  
“Word,” Artie said, throwing up a peace sign. As weird as it was to see Artie do that normally, it took on a whole ‘nother dimension when he was wearing a bald cap. They bumped fists, and Puck wheeled Artie out onto the back porch. Dave shook his head. Gleeks.   
  
Dave looked around. It wasn’t only gleeks, thank God. There were a few of the other Cheerios and a bunch of the underclassmen interspersed. Dave saw a Gorilla, Rainbow Brite, a cheap-looking vampire, Mario, three sexy devils, a freshman dressed as was looked like pixelated porn, Captain America, Iron Man, a giant Pizza, a couple zombies, and someone carrying a stapler in a Jello mold and wearing a nametag that said Dwight.   
  
Someone handed Dave a red solo cup, and when he looked to see, got an unintended eye-full of Santana’s cleavage. “Could you put that away?” Dave grumbled quietly, “You’re gonna put somebody’s eye out.”   
  
“Just because you don’t want it, doesn’t mean someone else doesn’t,” Santana replied in the same low tone.   
  
“And how is Brittany?” Dave asked.   
  
“Best I’ve ever had,” Santana grinned and Dave felt his face scrunch.   
  
“Come on,” Dave protested. “Don’t make me think about ladyparts, I just ate.”   
  
Santana snickered, and Dave sipped his drink. It was surprisingly unspiked. He raised an eyebrow at her. She shrugged. “Brit-Brit doesn’t like it when I drink without her,” she said quietly. “And Puckerman fell down on scoring the booze. Something about not wanting to incur the Wrath of Burt.”   
  
Dave nodded. With Finn living here, it made sense that Puck would know to tread softly around Burt Hummel.  
  
“So, the result is this,” Santana indicated the room with her hand. Dave looked around. It looked like a party, people were standing around talking and laughing. Sam, Finn, and Puck seemed to be in a cupcake-eating contest, trying to fit as many in their mouths as they could without choking. Music was playing and the back deck had been turned into an impromptu dance floor. There were a few people out there, including Mike and Tina, the Gorilla, and, Dave frowned, was Captain America grinding with Iron Man? “It’s Lame City,” Santana finished.   
  
“Could be worse,” Dave said. “Nobody’s puking in the fishtank. And no one is likely to piss in a closet.”   
  
“Don’t say the “c” word, Dave,” Kurt said as he waltzed past with Brittany. “And come dance!”   
  
Santana followed them, cutting in and whisking Brittany out to the back deck. Kurt, flushed from the dancing, came up to stand with Dave.   
  
“Everyone seems to be having a good time,” Kurt said.   
  
“Yeah,” Dave said. “People are really loosening up,” he tilted his head towards the deck, and the dancing superheroes. Kurt blinked at what he saw, then smiled, wide and sappy.   
  
“Oh, aren’t they cute.” Kurt paused. “Wait, does this make the not the only out kid anymore?”   
  
Dave shrugged. “There’s a difference between being out and dancing with another boy while wearing a mask. Nobody here is going to talk about it, so, you know.”   
  
Kurt inspected the cuff of his sleeve. “You sound like you’ve thought about it.”   
  
Dave drank from his cup, taking a moment before he said quietly, “I have.” At Kurt’s look, he said. “It’s pretty much all I think about. Should I tell people? When? How? There’s a part of me that wants to just, like, announce it over the loudspeakers at school, just so that it’s done, you know? And another that wishes you’d told everybody last year, so I wouldn’t have to. And there’s another part that wants to crawl back into my closet and never crawl out.” Dave sighed. “I don’t want the whole school to know until after Hockey. But the GSA been good about keeping what’s said at meetings, at meetings. Every meeting I think about saying it, just in case the school  does  find out, I’d have some friends who already knew.” Dave drained his cup, and wished somebody  had  spiked the punch.   
  
He felt Kurt’s hand on his arm, and when he looked, Kurt was smiling at him. “I think that’s the longest I’ve ever heard you refer to yourself that way, and certainly the first time in a room of people. I’m proud of you.”   
  
Dave shifted. “People keep saying that. They’re proud of me for telling them. I don’t feel like I’ve done anything to be proud of.”   
  
“You have,” Kurt said. “None of this is easy, and you’re doing it without any major melt-downs.”   
  
Dave snorted. “I just don’t want to give Dr. Banks-call-me-George any material to work with. The guy’s a tool.” At Kurt’s questioning look, he explained, “The guy I see for anger management. He’s convinced that I have some deep dark secret, and that if I let it come to light, then my anger will evaporate.”   
  
“Well,” Kurt said. “You kinda do. And you are. And it is helping.”   
  
“Well, yeah,” Dave said. “But that’s, like, common sense. I’m not giving that jerkoff the satisfaction to know he was right about something that I could have told him.” Dave sighed. “Just because I wasn’t ready to understand doesn’t mean I didn’t.”   
  
Kurt squeezed Dave’s arm and let his hand drop. “When did you get so wise?” Kurt murmured.   
  
Dave shrugged. “I’ve had a lot of time in the penalty box to think.” Dave grinned when Kurt shook his head, confused. “Hockey,” Dave explained. “When you foul, they put you in the penalty box.”   
  
“ _Time out?_ ” Kurt grinned. “There’s a time out in Hockey?”  
  
“There’s time out in every sport--”  
  
“No, no. I mean, like, punishing two-year-olds time out.”   
  
Dave rolled his eyes. “If you want to oversimplify, yeah, I guess.”   
  
“I do,” Kurt said. “I really do.” He looked Dave over. “So do you foul a lot?”   
  
“Nah,” Dave said. “At least, never when the ref’s looking. But when I do, I seem to go big.”   
  
“We’re not really talking about Hockey, are we?” Kurt said.   
  
“No,” Dave said. “Well, yes and no. One follows the other.”   
  
“Good to know,” Kurt said. He looked around the room, then sighed dramatically. “Oh, _Finn_ _,_ ” Kurt sighed. Dave looked. Finn had knocked over his soda, and was attempting to mop it up with an icing-covered napkin. Kurt rushed forward to help, or take over, and Dave followed Finn into the kitchen when Kurt chased him away, intending to give a hand.   
  
“Party foul?” Dave asked, leaning against the sink as Finn dumped a wad of soda-soaked napkins into the trash.   
  
“Yeah,” Finn said. “I tried to fix it, but Kurt swooped in from nowhere. The guy’s like a cleaning ninja or something.” Finn brushed at his front. “Fuck, I got soda on me.” Dave turned and dampened a paper towel to hand to Finn. “Thank,” Finn said, and tried to wipe the soda off his costume. “Man, Rachel’s gonna kill me,” he moaned. “I think it’s a rental. And it fucking  _caifs._ ” He made a frustrated noise, and reached into his pants to adjust himself. Dave looked away, trying not to laugh. “Tights are hard to wear, man. I don’t know how girls do it.”   
  
“Most girls don’t have anything there  _to_ caif,” Dave said. “So that probably helps.”   
  
“Oh,” Finn said, pausing. “Right. I knew that.”   
  
“No!” Dave heard Kurt say. “Finn! Come tell your woman no karaoke!” Dave nearly choked on his soda at the “Oh Shit,” look on Finn’s face. Dave clapped Finn on the arm, wished him luck, and fled the kitchen.   
  
He wandered for a while longer, never staying with one group, stepping outside when he was warm, moving inside when he got cold. He took to staring that the gorilla, trying to figure out who, exactly, was in that suit, but nobody seemed to know. Whatever; he or she wasn’t causing any problems, though it was weird to see him or her drink soda though the mask.   
  
The music slowed, and Dave looked outside to see couples form on the “dance floor.” Santana was draped over Brittany, and had a peaceful look on her face that Dave hadn’t seen before. He smiled. Good for her. “I’d be lying if I said I was surprised,” Kurt commented quietly, come up to stand with him. “They look good together.”   
  
Dave nodded. “Took her long enough,” he muttered. At Kurt’s look, Dave just shook his head. “I’m just glad to see her happy.”   
  
Kurt nodded. “And are you happy, Dave?”   
  
Dave thought about it and was mildly surprised to find that he was happy. He was having fun at a party with no booze, no cool kids, no  _pressure,_ and he was  _enjoying_ himself. It wasn’t perfect, but it was better than it had been in a while. “I’m getting there,” he said at length. Kurt smiled, and they watched the couples dance.   
  
***  
  
People began to leave around eleven, the underclassmen having to get home before curfew. As the party shrunk, people drifted inside, until only Dave was left outside, sitting in shadow on the railing, leaning against and staring up at the stars. Dave could hear them inside, still singing and laughing and talking, and he figured he was good out here a little longer.   
  
Dave was thinking. If he left now, he could still make Az’s party, or at least enough of it to mend fences. He could get a beer and drink, and hope he didn’t get caught staring at the wrong person’s ass.   
  
Dave didn’t move. When he finished his soda, he put the can on the railing just beyond his feet.   
  
There were moments of choice, where the decisions one makes change everything. Most of the time, these moments pass unnoticed. But sometimes, these moments have weight, a physical presence. Dave felt that weight now, and he didn’t move.   
  
The back door opened, and Dave looked to see Kurt step outside, crown askew. He walked up to Dave.   
  
“There you are,” Kurt said. “If it wasn’t for your truck, I’d think you’d left.”   
  
Dave shrugged. “Not used to parties without beer,” he said. How sad was that; he wasn’t used to parties that he _actually enjoyed_. “It’s easier when I’m drunk, sometimes. I worry less.”   
  
“Alcohol and I don’t really mix,” Kurt said. “Last time I got drunk, I puked on Ms Pillsbury’s shoes.” Dave snickered. “Are you worried now?” Kurt asked.   
  
Dave shrugged. A little. A lot. He didn’t really know. The weight was still on him. “I think I’m more worried about how  not worried  I am here, you know?”   
  
“Come on in,” Kurt said. “There’s a B-Movie marathon on the Syfy channel. We’re gonna give it the Mystery Science Theatre treatment--make fun and throw popcorn until we crash.” Kurt held out his hand.  
  
Dave took it, let Kurt pull him from the railing. He stopped Kurt just outside the door, and straightened Kurt’s crown. Kurt’s hair was just as soft as he remembered. Kurt smiled at him, led him inside, and, decision made, Dave felt the weight leave.   
  
The only people left were the rest of the Glee club, and Dave hesitated, but Santana shifted over on the couch to make room for him next to her, Brittany, and Quinn. Finn looked at Dave for backup that  _Street Fighter_ was better than _Mortal Kombat,_ while Puck, Sam and Artie argued against. Mike held his fist out for a bump. Tina passed him a soda. Mercedes passed him popcorn.   
  
Dave would have to deal with Az somehow, but he couldn’t bring himself to worry about that now. He would think about it in the morning, after he woke up, Santana and Brittany curled around him; after he stumbled into the kitchen, still dressed as a pirate, to have coffee with Kurt and Burt, who would pat his shoulder approvingly; after he would find his mask on the back porch and wonder just how long he had forgotten to wear it, and wonder more that he hadn’t noticed.   
  
But right now, Rachel shrieked as Puck poked her, and Quinn laughed at something Tina said, and Kurt was sitting at Dave’s feet, warm against Dave’s leg where Kurt had curled up with Mercedes. He would deal with the fall out tomorrow. Dave _stayed_ _;_ he had bad special effects to mock. 


	2. Invitation to the Blues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dave gets some bad news, goes to Invitationals, and things start to get complicated.

Dave stayed for most of the morning, helping Kurt set the house back to rights after a long breakfast with the rest of the Glee Club. He stopped off at home to shower and change, and made it to his appointment with Dr. Banks-call-me-George with minutes to spare. 

Dave sat in the waiting room, knee bouncing, turning his phone over in his hands. Dave had left it in Kurt’s bedroom during the party, and it stayed there overnight and all through breakfast. He had checked it when he picked it up: 3 missed calls and 12 missed texts, all from Az. Dave had tucked his phone away without reading any of them. He should really read them now, see the damage. He should--

“David?” The receptionist called. Dave stuck his phone into his pocket and followed her into the office. 

Dave never liked the office; it was big, for one, with high ceilings and tall windows. The furniture was low and modern and surprisingly comfortable, with everything done up in light colors, whites and light pine. The room was airy and open, designed to make the patient feel at ease, like they weren’t penned in. It made Dave feel exposed. 

Entering the office, Dave sat in his usual seat. There were three chairs in front of the desk, one head on, and one to either side. Dr. Banks-call-me-George would sit on his desk as they talked, and the patient was to sit in any one of the three chairs. Dave supposed which chair he chose told the doc some secret like those “choose which you like best” quizzes that was supposed to tell you your personality. Dave had considered sitting in a different seat each time, just to fuck with the guy’s head, but he was pretty sure the Doc would just figure that told him something else about Dave. 

God, he hated these sessions. 

Anyway, he sat in the seat closest to the door (which meant he was, what? Anxious to leave? That was true enough. Didn’t want to be there? That too! Was too lazy to walk to the next chair over?), and watched Dr. Banks-call-me-George sit on the edge of his desk. 

“Hello, David,” he said. “How was your Halloween?” 

Good. I think I made a few friends. Bad, I think I pissed off my best friend, and as a result, may end up outing myself before I’m ready. Dave shrugged. “Fine.” 

Dr. Banks-call-me-George nodded. “Good to hear that. Did you dress up?” 

“Yeah,” Dave said, and because he knew it was coming, “The Dread Pirate Roberts.” 

If Dr. Banks-call-me-George was surprised he didn’t show it. He just smiled, commenting in his vanilla monotone that The Princess Bride was a great movie, and asked, “Why that costume? Why Wesley?” 

Dave shrugged. “Pirates are cool,” he said. He didn’t say that he didn’t dress as Wesley, he was dressed as The Dread Pirate Roberts, that the two were different things. Wesley was his predecessor. 

“Did you go trick or treating?” 

Dave scoffed. “No. I’m a little old, don’t you think?”

“Is that what you think?” 

Dave didn’t think anyone was too old for free candy, but it hadn’t been “cool” to trick or treat since he was fourteen. “Kurt hosted a party for the GSA,” he said, instead. “I helped.” 

“That’s very good, David,” Dr. Banks-call-me-George said. Dave wondered if he was using some kind of weird positive enforcement, like it was these sessions that had calmed Dave down. Dave really wanted to burst his bubble, that he got more out of a night at Scandals than out of a month of sessions. But that involved talking, so...

Dave shoved his hands into his pockets, curling his fingers around his phone. He wasn’t allowed to look at his phone during the sessions, not after the first few where he had played Angry Birds the entire time. Dr. Banks-call-me-George was saying something about opening himself up to positive energy or some other pseudo-zen bullshit, and Dave cut him off, saying: 

“I’m pretty sure that party cost me my best friend.” 

Dr. Banks-call-me-George stopped talking, and Dave watched as the emotions flitted over his face; surprised pleasure of Dave volunteering information, dismay at what Dave said, then the poker mask was back, and Dr. Banks-call-me-George asked him to explain. 

“Not much to say,” Dave said. “Things have been tense for a while now, and me telling Az that I was ditching him to party with the gay club...” Dave trailed off, and shrugged. 

“He’s not supportive of your work with the club?” 

“Not really,” Dave said. “GSA is kinda a risk to take with your social stock.” 

“And how does that make you feel?” 

Dave stared. Was this guy for real? He checked his watch. Fuck. Only fifteen minutes. He started talking too early. He sighed, looking away. 

“Why didn’t you go to his party?” Dr. Banks-call-me-George asked. 

“Because I was having fun at mine,” Dave said. “Simple as that.” 

“Is it really?” Dr. Banks-call-me-George asked. “If it was, don’t you think your friend would understand?” 

Dave just shook his head. Of course it wasn’t that simple. Dave wouldn’t be comfortable at Az’s parties until he didn’t have to hide anymore. But if he was out, there was no guarantee he would be invited anymore. “It doesn’t matter, anyway.” Dave said. Az would know sooner or later, and either all would be forgiven--or not.

Dr. Banks-call-me-George sighed. “It matters if it’s important to you.” 

“Yeah, well,” Dave shifted in his seat. “What’s important to me and what’s important to him seem to be two different things these days.” 

“In what way?” Dr. Banks-call-me-George asked. But Dave looked away, folding his arms over his chest. He was done talking about this. Faking these sessions was getting harder and harder to do. Dave was starting to get that he really did need to talk to someone about all the shit in his life, but fuck him if it was gonna be Dr. Banks-call-me-George. 

Still, his parents wouldn’t let him stop sessions unless Dr. Banks-call-me-George said Dave was making progress, and he wouldn’t do that unless Dave talked to him. Dave let his head fall back and he stared at the ceiling, tuning out that quack for the rest of the hour. 

***

Dave sat on his bed, staring at his phone. He really couldn’t put this off any longer. 

u comin?

fucker bring beer

partys getting cray where u @

fuckface get here

fuck u homo 

The last was sent at 12:27. Dave had been watching The Crawling Eye, laughing at Sam’s terrible impressions, and keeping up a running commentary with Kurt. Mercedes had given him the eye once or twice, but mostly she was laughing too hard to care. 

If Dave had been at Az’s party, he’d be half-drunk and terrified, glowering into his beer and wondering if he’d been there long enough, if he could just go home already. Either that, or he would have been roped into some stupid stunt or a beer run because he was sober enough to drive. 

Any lingering doubts Dave had about not going to Az’s party disappeared. Dave was sick and tired of being around people he was scared to be himself with. He’d do what he could to patch things now, but he had to either end the friendship, or tell him. 

It was a month and a half until winter break. He could hold out until then, tell Az before break. That way, if Az freaked out, they’d have some time where they wouldn’t have to see each other every day. And if Az didn’t freak, they could talk outside of school. 

sry man. prty ran l8. crashed @ hudsons. 

Dave sent the text and dropped the phone of his bed. Az would take it for what it was, or not. Either way, Dave was done. 

***

Az was absent on Monday. It didn’t make Dave feel any better. 

Kurt fell into step with Dave on his way to Physics the next day. Dave raised an eyebrow at him; he was pretty sure Kurt was supposed to be on his way to French. On the other side of the school. 

“Invitationals are this Saturday,” Kurt said. Dave nodded. Finn had mentioned at practice the other day. Kurt nudged Dave with his shoulder. “You want to come and support Music Education?” Dave hesitated; while he would freely admit (to himself anyway), that he liked watching Kurt perform (Push It had featured in several of his dreams), he didn’t think it was enough to volunteer to go to a show choir concert. Kurt pressed, “Please? The Warblers are coming and I might need you to hold me back if I see Blaine.” Kurt paused. “Or at least provide an alibi.” 

Dave laughed. “All right,” he said. “But if he starts shit, I won’t be held responsible for my actions.” 

“Deal,” Kurt said, and jogged away, leaving Dave in the doorway to his classroom. Dave shook his head and sat in the empty desk next to Artie, forgoing his usual seat. “Professor,” Dave greeted. 

“Captain Roberts,” Artie responded, and held out his fist to bump. “That party was sick, yo.” 

“Heh, yeah,” Dave said. “You’re a real quick-draw on the popcorn.” 

“We all have our talents,” Artie grinned, wiggling his eyebrows. Dave laughed, leaning back in his chair. 

“Very true,” Dave said. He pulled out his notebook, and realized Artie was staring at him. “What?” 

“Nah, it’s like,” Artie paused, “I knew you were different, but there’s knowing and seeing, you know?” 

Dave nodded, looking down. He got what Artie was trying to say, but really, I’d be nice if everyone didn’t keep bringing it up. “If you knew how sorry I feel--” 

Artie waved him off. “Water under the bridge, yo. I figure, if Kurt can forgive you and become your, like, new BFF or whatever, then least I can do is give you a chance.” He held his fist out again and Dave bumped it. “Besides, if I can forgive Puck locking me in a port-a-potty, then I can forgive a few names.” 

Dave winced. He wasn’t part of the port-a-potty party, but he’d heard about it. “Yeah, people can be pretty stupid, sometimes.” 

“Preach,” Artie said. The teacher walked in and Artie leaned in close. “Look, some of the guys have a standing invite for game night at my place. I got Rockband, Guitar Hero, and Mike usually brings DDR. You should join us.” 

Dave thought about it. His social life had never really recovered after the Bullywhips, and he was pretty sure Az wasn’t talking to him anymore. Or, if he was, he wouldn’t be for long. “Yeah,” he said. “That’d be awesome.” 

***

Dinner that night was meatloaf. Dave paused in the doorway. Meatloaf was his father’s favorite. They only ever had it when maria was trying to butter Paul up, or apologize without saying she’s sorry. Dave closed the door and brought his bag up to his room as quietly as possible. He was better off not getting involved. 

His father, however, didn’t seem to view the meal with the same suspicion. 

“Smells good, hon,” Paul said when they sat down. Maria preened, but Dave saw the smile turn just a little as Paul looked away. Dave shook his head. Ridiculous. Was he so focused on his own secrets that he was seeing deceit everywhere?

Then, of course, she had to ruin it by opening her mouth. 

“So I was talking to my mother today,” Maria began, and Dave rolled his eyes. Here it goes. “And we were talking about Thanksgiving.” Paul put his fork down, and Maria hurried on. “It’s just that little Tommy is on leave, and with Cliff stationed at Camp Perry, and it’ll be the first time everyone can be together for the Holidays.” 

“I don’t want that man in my house,” Paul said. 

“That man is my brother,” Maria snapped. It had been over five years since the last time Dave saw his Uncle Thomas, when he and Paul had butted heads over something that nobody in the family knew; whatever it was, Paul had punched a hole in the foyer wall after Thomas had left. Dave got his temper from somewhere, after all. “It’s been years, Paul. Whatever it is...enough time has passed.” 

Paul stared at Maria. “Fine,” he said at last, putting his fork down. “Do whatever you want.” He stood and left the table, meatloaf untouched. Dave pushed his around his place as his mother cleared her plate with tiny bites. 

“It’ll be good for you to see your cousin again,” Maria said. Dave looked at her then back at his place. When they had been little, Tommy had been his hero. Five years older, there seemed like nothing Tommy didn’t know, or couldn’t do. But that had already started to fade by the time Dave was in middle school, when he was starting to realize just how different he was from his classmates, and how those differences were bad things when coming out of Tommy’s mouth. 

Dave was pretty sure Tommy wouldn’t like Dave’s work with the GSA. Or Dave. So no, Dave didn’t think it would be good for him to see his cousin again. But Maria was waiting for an answer. 

“Yeah, Mom,” he said. “Looking forward to it.” 

He excused himself soon after, saying he had homework to finish. When he went upstairs, he turned on his music and stared up at the ceiling until he fell asleep. 

As if his week couldn’t get any better, Az was waiting for him outside of school the next day. He had a scowl on his face, but there was something bleary about his eyes. Az sneezed as Dave got closer and he realized; Az had a cold. He wasn’t avoiding Dave on purpose; he was sick. Dave shouldn’t feel relieved, but he kinda did. 

Az waved a weak hand as Dave got to the top of the stairs. 

“I feel like too much shit to call you on your bullshit Saturday,” Az said. “But your reckoning will come.” He sneezed again. “Once I stop this fucking sneezing.” 

Dave frowned. “Should you be in school?” 

Az shrugged. “Probably not. But if I miss practice, Coach’ll bench me.” He slapped Dave on the back. “Im gonna go sleep in the nurse’s office. Come wake my ass up at the end of the day?” 

“You got it,” Dave said, and watched Az lumber down the hall. The students parted in front of him like the sea, and he wondered if it was because he was Az, or because he was Typhoid fucking Mary. 

Santana was waiting for him in homeroom. Dave paused in the doorway when he saw the grin on her face, knowing no good would come of it. “What?” Dave asked, guarded, as he took his seat. 

“What, what?” Santana asked. “Why do you assume there’s anything.” 

“Because you’re you,” Dave said. “And I don’t trust that smirk.” 

“That’s because you’re not as dumb as you look,” she said. Dave snorted. “Kurt tells me you’re coming to watch us at Invitationals.” 

Dave shrugged, and Santana leaned in close, whispering, “So just how long have you wanted to tap that?” 

Dave started, going red. “Wha-! I-! What?” Santana just looked at him, smug. 

“A while then,” she said. Dave could feel his heart pounding in his chest, and his face had to be either white or bright red, because she couldn’t know about Kurt--Dave didn’t even really know about Kurt--he was his friend, and that was the best that he could hope for. 

“It’s not--” Dave lowered his voice. “It’s not like that.” 

Santana scoffed, clearly disbelieving. Then her eyes widened. “You like--!”

“Shut up!” Dave hissed. Santana had her hand over her mouth, staring with wide eyes. “I--I don’t know,” Dave said, still low. “We’re friends.” 

Santana took the hand from her mouth and nodded. “Okay, Cubby,” she said, and let it drop. As they were walking out of homeroom, Dave snagged Santana’s arm. 

“San,” he said, and she rolled her eyes. 

“My lips are sealed,” she said. “I figure I owe you one for this summer.” She pulled her arm back and Dave snorted, relaxing. He knew what she was talking about; one night in July, in that hazy time where late night became early morning, Santana had been still drunk enough to not have a filter on his mouth, when a handful of football players, underclassmen that Dave didn’t know so well, had tumbled into the diner from a nearby field-party. Dave had covered for them, keeping her from talking and keeping the guys from hanging around. When Santana had sobered enough to realize what had almost happened, she had paled and demanded to be brought home. She had thanked him before getting out of his truck. It was the first time she thanked him. It was the last time she had called him. 

Dave grinned, ruefully. “You owe me several for this summer.” 

“Whatever,” Santana said, flicking her hand his way, and sashaying down the hallway. He watched her ponytail swing away until it was joined by Brittany’s blond tail. 

The rest of the week passed in the same way; Dave waited for the explosion, the confrontation, or something, but every time he expected Az to say something, he didn’t. And though the waiting was terrible, Dave wasn’t in any rush to have that fight, because he knew that’s when he would tell Az, and he wasn’t ready. 

By the game Friday night, Dave was still a bit off balance, especially when the glocks included him in their pre-game rough-housing. It didn’t go over so well with Az, who was still stiff and miserable with his cold, but when Dave looked his way, Az just shook his head. 

They barely won that game, 14-13. 

***

Invitationals, Dave learned from Kurt the night before, began at 1. Unlike competition, the groups wouldn’t be judged, but used the event to scope out and intimidate the competition. Report time for the clubs was way earlier than Dave thought was necessary, but since he didn’t need to be there, he didn’t care too much. Invitationals would consist of three groups, including the New Directions, who would be competing for a spot at Sectionals. It was possible, then, for two clubs to compete more than once. 

It all sounded very Disney sports movie, but then again, he had all three Mighty Ducks movies on blu-ray, so he really couldn’t talk. 

So, the two groups were St Anna’s Gospel Choir (Go Tenor on the Mountain. Really?) and--the Dalton Academy Warblers. 

Dave was just entering the auditorium when he got a text from Kurt. 

Only the fact that a homicide would eliminate us from competing is saving Rachel Berry from an untimely end. 

Dave grinned. 

im in the aud if u need 2 move a body 

Don’t tempt me. Come ‘round the South side, say hi. We’re just cooling our heels at the moment. 

k

Dave pocketed his phone and changed direction, heading out the side door. He could hear Berry freaking out about something and he hesitated. 

“I’d be careful if I were you, Cubby,” Dave heard. Sebastian stood at his elbow, looking odd in the school blazer. “Mood she’s in, she’ll take your head off.” 

“I’ll use you as a shield,” Dave muttered. Sebastian laughed, high class ha has like Bruce frickin’ Wayne, but with some real feeling behind it. Dave--wasn’t quite sure how to react to that, so he didn’t, and poked his head into the choir room. Kurt saw him first and grinned, practically rushing over. 

“You made it!” Kurt said. he hugged Dave, and whispered in his ear, “Were you serious about helping hide a body, because I may take you up on that.” 

Dave looked over to where Finn had managed to calm Berry down, mostly by virtue of hugging her into submission; it was like watching an octopus crush its prey. “Finn seems to have it under control,” he said. 

“Oh not her,” Kurt waved a hand and stepped back. “Blaine. Would you believe he had the audacity to show his smarmy face? Here!” 

Dave frowned. “Did something happen?” 

Kurt sighed. “No, not really. Just Drama that we don’t need.” He paused. “I think Blaine’s realized Sebastian isn’t actually interested. I think he’s trying to get me back.” 

There was no reason for Dave to break Blaine’s face. None. No matter what the knot of jealousy and fear in his chest told him. 

Kurt snorted. “As if. Even if I would get back with a boy who broke up with me via text, my heart’s not there, anymore.” Kurt smiled at Dave, and Dave realized that Kurt wasn’t just over Blaine, but he liked someone new. Oh, Fuck, Dave thought. Now he likes Sebastian. It made sense. Since their encounter at the Lima Bean, Kurt had mentioned the other boy a few times, off-handed remarks, like there was something secret going on. Dave knew they had some sort of revenge on Blaine planned, but, well, Dave knew nothing united people like a common enemy. Remember what you told Santana. You are friends. It’s the best you can hope for, so be happy for him. 

“Good,” Dave said, and backtracked at Kurt’s eyebrow. “That you’re not hung up on someone who’d do that.” Even if it is that Weasel, Sebastian. Kurt narrowed his eyes at Dave, but nodded, like he had figured something out. Dave jerked a thumb towards the auditorium. “I better go get a seat. Break a leg?” Dave said, pretty sure that’s what you said. 

Kurt smiled. “Yes, ‘break a leg.’ Thank you.” 

Dave grinned and fled the choir room. 

Dave took a seat in the back, figuring nobody could see him where it was darkest, and settled in with a program. The Gospels were first, then The Warblers, then The New Directions. The lights went down just as Dave was wondering if anybody thought to sell candy or something, and Senor Shue introduced The Gospels. 

They were all right, Dave guessed. He didn’t really have much to compare it to, other than the few assemblies put on by The New Directions. But if that was standard, there was no way Kurt wasn’t getting to Nationals this year. They sang some sort of medley; Creed’s With Arms Wide Open, Higher, and something else that Dave didn’t recognize. 

The curtain went down to that automatic applause that Dave always equated with “You Participated!” ribbons. Then the curtain went up on The Warblers. 

They were standing in formation, all of them in matching uniforms and Dave felt a bit uneasy. They were, like Stepford teens. Then the music started and Dave had to bite his lip to keep from laughing, because it was Britney Spears. They were performing a medley, like the other group, starting with Hit Me Baby, then Toxic, and finally, Till the World Ends. Blaine--Dave recognized him from the sheen on his hair, and the fact that he was almost a head shorter than everybody else--stepped away from the group and sang, curling in on himself as the others moved in formation behind him. He had to admit that the choreography was kinda cool, but Britney Spears? Really? 

Finally, they left the stage and Dave sat up straighter. He wasn’t excited, damnit, he was just here for Kurt. He could just see the heads of the Warblers, could see Sebastian on the end behind Blaine. He couldn’t see his face, but he hoped it looked smug, so it could fall. Then the Curtain raised on the New Directions, and Dave flicked his eyes back between the two. 

The music started, a familiar thumping, and Dave watched as Blaine sat up straight in his seat. He saw Sebastian lean back, recognized the victorious tilt of his head, and the performance began. Dave had to laugh. They were doing Katy Perry; he had heard Kurt complain enough about Blaine’s attachment to female pop vocalists that he finally knew what they were doing; showing the Warblers they could beat them at their own game. Dave nodded, brilliant. 

He found himself bopping along to Hot and Cold, California Gurls, and nearly dancing in his seat with Last Friday Night (T.G.I.F). His eyes never left Kurt as the other boy danced across the stage, not even when Artie wheeled across the stage, rapping Snoop Dogg’s part. He stomped his feet when they started to chant T.G.I.F, and when they finished, arms up, though Dave was a little bummed that Kurt didn’t get a solo, he was still on his feet, cheering with the crowd. 

Dave pushed his way to the side as everyone started to file out of the auditorium. He had to see Kurt, tell him what a wonderful job they had done. He paused at the hallway; it was much more crowded now, after the show. 

“If this were a competition,” Dave heard and rolled his eyes. Sebastian really needed to stop appearing at his elbow like a bad bond villain. Dave turned as Sebastian finished, “New Directions would have blown that out of the park, don’t you think?” 

Dave raised an eyebrow. “You don’t seem too upset about that.” 

“Why would I be?” Sebastian said. “That was the plan.” 

“Right,” Dave said. “The Plan,” the plan Sebastian and Kurt had been talking about, the one that would put Blaine in his place and get Sebastian solos. 

The two stood for a moment longer. It was odd; the last time Dave had seen the other teen, aside from that weird moment earlier, had been in the Lima Bean with Kurt, after The Plan had been agreed upon. Kurt had mentioned Sebastian’s name a few times, at first when he was venting his anger at Blaine, then more off-hand. Dave never pushed, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know, but something was going on there, and Dave didn’t like it. 

Which was why Dave felt okay asking, “Uh, no offence, but why are you talking to me?” 

Sebastian shrugged. “Familiar face,” he said. At Dave’s look Sebastian rolled his eyes. “How much do you know about what’s been going on?” he asked, quietly. Dave shook his head. “I’ve been feeding Kurt information about Dalton’s set list. Everybody knows Blaine and Kurt used to date, and that Kurt and I are mortal enemies. They’re going to know there was a leak, and they’re going to think it was Blaine.”

Dave raised an eyebrow. “But everybody know how pissed Kurt is at Blaine, they’d never believe Blaine would give information.” 

“They would if it was to try to get back in Kurt’s good graces,” Sebastian said. “Or, if they’re really not buying it, Blaine is predictable. That’s death in Show Choir. This will prove it. Kurt dated Blaine long enough to get his habits, and use them against him. The board will remove Blaine from a place of power as a result.”

“Leaving you to pick up his solos,” Dave said. “Devious.” 

“I try,” Sebastian said, buffing his nails. “Mostly, however, Blaine is on his way to talk to Kurt in person. I want a front row seat for the fireworks.” 

Sure enough, as Sebastian spoke, Dave saw Blaine, flanked by three others in Dalton blazers, heading towards the choir room. Dave and Sebastian exchanged a look, and followed. 

They walked into the middle of a standoff- Kurt against Blaine, with Santana, Finn, and Rachel against what Dave supposed was the council. The rest of the glee club hovered in the back, watching warily. Sebastian crossed his arms and leaned back, looking like he wished he had popcorn. A few others in Dalton Blazers appeared behind Dave and he shifted over to let them see. One of them, pudgy and just effeminate enough to make Dave wonder, just stood in the doorway with his fingers pressed to his mouth. 

“What was that?” Blaine demanded. Kurt crossed his arms and looked Blaine over, his expression chilled. 

“What was what?” 

“That!” Blaine pointed in the direction of the stage. “Out there!” 

Kurt sniffed and tossed his hair. “That was a performance of three of Katy Perry’s smash hits.” Kurt tilted his head. “Don’t you recognize her? I mean, female pop vocalists are kinda your thing, aren’t they?” 

The members of the council exchanged looks and Sebastian nodded, muttering, “Good.” 

Dave shot him a glance, but Sebastain wasn’t looking at him; he was looking eagerly at the drama before them, like--like a man watching a plan come together. 

“You--” Blaine pointed at Kurt, rage and hurt playing across his features. “If this is some twisted attempt to get me back--”

“Ha!” Kurt cut him off with a loud laugh. “After that shit you pulled. A text, Blaine? Really?” 

Pudgy shifted next to Dave, and he looked over; the other teen was biting the nails of both hands at once. Was this kid for real? Still, he seemed genuinely upset over the information, which Dave hoped meant he was on Kurt’s side. 

Blaine looked momentarily stunned, like he couldn’t believe Kurt was yelling at him. Dave wondered how Blaine could have dated Kurt for so long and not understand Kurt’s need for drama, that the little theatrical flairs were what let Kurt cope with a world that was constantly down on him. This breakup drama? Was probably giving Kurt more closure than anything yet. Once Kurt yelled it out, put Blaine in his place and walked away on top, it would be over. 

“I mean,” Kurt went on, “I know we hadn’t been right for a while, even before Scandals, but I can’t help but think I deserve more than a text.” 

“Scandals?” Finn asked, confused, but Kurt ignored him. Dave turned to Sebastian. 

“What happened at Scandals?” 

“Blaine got a little too handsy in the car, and ended up walking home. Apparently the idiot thought Kurt would go for a quickie in the backseat for his first time.” 

Dave blinked. “How do you know that?” It didn’t seem like the kind of think Blaine would want spread around. “Did Kurt tell you that?” 

Sebastian nodded. “It came up during a planning session. Apparently it highlighted a lot of what was wrong between them; that’s when Kurt started asserting his opinion about things, and the fighting began.” 

“Shit,” Dave muttered. He had no idea it had been that bad. No wonder Kurt didn’t want to talk about it. 

Blaine was protesting; it had nothing to do with that; he had texted because whenever they saw each other, they fought; it was like Kurt had turned into another person overnight; it wasn’t fair to either of them if they never saw each other; it was clear Kurt didn’t have the same investment in their relationship as Blaine did--

“Excuse me?” Kurt interrupted. “I wasn’t as invested? I was always bending over backwards for you, sacrificing my chance at the spotlight so you could have yours; in fact, the only time I didn’t was when I wouldn’t bend over for you. You couldn’t treat me like that then, I will not let you treat me like that now.” 

Finn tensed, and Rachel looked ready to pop. Santana, oddly enough, looked like she was about to laugh. Then again, Dave shouldn’t be surprised; she had never liked Blaine. 

“So deal with me personally!” Blaine protested, his motions wide and dramatic. It looked, like everything Dave saw Blaine do, staged. “Don’t bring glee into this.” 

Sebastian tsked. “He’s overselling,” he whispered. “They’ll never buy it.” 

Blaine seemed to realize that as well, and deflated. “How could you do that to me?” He said, and sounded utterly broken, yet, still sounded forced. 

Even Kurt softened. “Not everything is about you, Blaine,” he said. Kurt looked up at the council. “It’s a long drive back to Dalton. You might want to get on the road.” The other Warblers rushed past Dave, Pudgy in the lead, and they led him out of the room. The council stayed behind for a moment, talking to Kurt, and before they left, they each shook his hand. As they left, the last one stopped and said to Sebastian, “You were right. We have much on which to confer this night,” and left. 

Dave looked at Sebastian. “They always talk like that?” 

“Yep,” Sebastian said, and clapped Dave on the shoulder. “See you next time, Cubby.” He was almost out the door before he paused to nod at Kurt. “Gayface.” 

“Meerkat.” Kurt returned, and Sebastian was gone. 

Dave looked between Kurt and the door. “DId I just see a gang fight or a mafia coup?” 

“Yes?” Kurt said, and shrugged. 

“What was all that?” Rachel finally burst out. She gasped. “Were you using your wiles to get information from Blaine?” 

“Using your ex for information?” Santana added, “Wanky.” 

“What? No!” Kurt protested. He shut the door and said, “Sebastian gave me their set list.” 

There was a pause, than a clamor of voices. “You slept with Sebastian?” “Get freaky, Hummel!” “Who’s Sebastian?” 

“Oh my God, Shut up!” Kurt yelled. Silence fell. “No, I did not sleep with Sebastian, because aside from him being the reason why Blaine broke up with me, he’s a walking bag of sleaze.” There was no reason for Dave to feel like jumping for joy at that. None. Do you hear me brain?  
“However,” Kurt continued, “He’s also an ambitious bag of sleaze, who wanted a solo at competition.” Kurt paused. “You never went to Dalton. It looks all shiny, but it’s stagnant. Nothing ever changes, and they do everything they can to enforce conformity and stamp out individuality. The only way Blaine wasn’t going to get a solo was if he a) wasn’t a Warbler anymore or b) something shook them up but good.” Kurt shrugged. “I know this means we won’t really know what to expect at Sectionals, but something needed to change at Dalton. I’m still friends with a lot of them, I couldn’t just let that go on.” 

Rachel stepped forward and hugged Kurt, who stood stiffly, hands waving in panic. “It was a good thing you did, Kurt,” Rachel said. 

“I know,” Kurt said, brushing off his sleeves. Rachel grabbed his arm, and pulled him away, starting to talk about strategy and their set list. Kurt shot a panicked look at dave over his shoulder, but before Dave could join him, Mercedes stopped him. 

“Give Rachel a minute to get it out of her system,” she said. “Then we’re sending you and Finn in.” 

“Oh, okay,” Dave said. “Hey, you guys were amazing up there.” 

Mercedes preened. “Of course we were.” 

Dave laughed, and held up a hand at Mercedes’s look. “No I just--Kurt said almost the exact same thing the exact same way the other day. It was just funny to see the overlap, that’s all.” 

“Mm-hmm,” Mercedes said. 

“Hey!” Puck called out. “It’s our first groupie. Stop hovering in the door!” 

“Groupie?” Dave asked, but he nodded at Mercedes, who was looking at him kinda funny--he would never understand girls--and joined Artie, Finn, and Puck. 

Puck shrugged. “You got a better term?”

“Friend, maybe?” Dave shrugged. “Something that doesn’t imply mass-orgy.” 

“What’s the fun in that?” Puck protested. Dave rolled his eyes, and tried to see past to where Rachel was still talking at Kurt. He looked a little shocked. 

“Finn, you think we should?” He nodded over, and Finn grimaced. 

“Yeah, but I really don’t want to,” he said. With a sigh, Finn, led the way over and tried to physically pry Rachel away from Kurt. 

“Dave?” He turned, and saw Tina. 

“What’s up?” he asked. He and Tina didn’t talk much, but after the first couple GSA meetings, she had stopped flinching around him and started talking to him, so that, by Halloween, while he didn’t consider her a friend, per say, they were friendly. 

“We’re all getting pizza after this. You want to come?” she asked. She looked hopeful. Dave nodded. 

“Uh, sure,” he said. “Thanks.” 

Tina grinned at him, and Chang gave him a thumbs up behind her back. 

As he turned around, he saw Finn finally get Rachel off of Kurt, and he stepped in to physically block her from Kurt. 

“Did I hear that you’re coming with us for pizza?” Kurt asked. 

“Yeah,” Dave said. He glanced over his shoulder. She was far enough away. “Though how you could hear anything...” 

Kurt snorted. “Could you give me a ride? Finn drove me and Rachel in before, and I don’t think my ears can take it.” Dave nodded and Kurt grinned. “Excellent. Let me change and I’ll meet you in the parking lot.” 

“Sure thing,” 

Kurt jogged off, and Dave had to force himself to not watch, not at school where anybody could see. The others had all gone to change, or returned and were ready to leave when Santana joined him. 

“Why don’t you offer to help?” She muttered. “He won’t mind.” 

Dave just rolled his eyes, and went to wait for Kurt in the lot, passing an eager looking Senor Shuester on his way. Dave shook his head; that man seemed to miss everything. 

It was still early enough that the sun was just setting, so Dave leaned against the door of his truck, enjoying the last bit of sunlight. Pretty soon it would be too cold to enjoy being outside, and Dave wanted to make the most of it. Dave expected Kurt to be the last one out, most of the others had gotten a head start and goodness knows Kurt’s outfits could get complicated. Kurt surprised him, however, fairly running out of the building, put together but a bit frantic. 

“Go, go, go!” Kurt cried out as he got closer. “Before Rachel gets out here.” 

Dave hustled, opening the door for Kurt before jogging around to the driver’s side and climbing in. He shut the door and started the engine just as Rachel appeared at the door of the school. Kurt hunched down with a muffled curse and Dave decided getting away was more important than letting his car warm up, and drove away are fast as he could. 

“Oh, thank God,” Kurt muttered faintly as he straightened up in his seat. “Rachel just won’t leave me alone. I mean, we’ve come a long way--we had almost moved from frenemies to friends, but if she keeps this up, I will throw away all of her knee socks.”

“Breathe, Fancy,” Dave said. “You’re in a Berry-free zone.” 

Kurt smiled at him. “Yes, thank you for that.” 

Dave shrugged. Like he wouldn’t do anything if Kurt asked him. “I just don’t understand how Finn puts up with her.” 

Kurt bit his lip and looked vaguely guilty for a moment before saying, “Okay, I’m going to tell you this, because you’re Finn’s friend, and I think he may eventually need someone who isn’t in glee on his side, but--I don’t think Finn’s going to put up with her much longer.” 

It took Dave a moment to parse that, and he looked at Kurt in surprise. “What? I thought, what was it, Finchel? Was like, true love or some shit.” 

Kurt shrugged. “All I know is that the more crazy Rachel gets, the less willing Finn is to deal with it.” 

“Dude,” Dave said, and whistled low. “Can’t say I blame him.” 

“Me either.” Kurt fidgeted, and said, “Though, part of the reason why Rachel and I fight is how similar we can be. If Finn can’t deal with her, what hope do I have of someone dealing with me.” 

Dave looked at Kurt in surprise. “You’re nothing like Berry,” he said. “And you don’t want someone who would ‘deal’ with you, you want someone who compliments you--in the these colors work together way, not the ‘you looks amazing in that’ way--though you should have that, too.” 

Kurt grinned at him. “Dave, did you just make a fashion reference?” 

Dave grinned back, a little sheepish. “Figured I better say it in a language you understand.” 

Kurt laughed, and reached forward for the radio. “Let’s get some music.” He said. 

“Uh,” Dave panicked for a moment, remembering that he had been listening to one of his “old music” stations, when Kurt turned up the volume and Nina Simone started wailing about the fate of the Sinnerman. Kurt turned to Dave in surprise. 

“David,” Kurt said, slowly grinning. “Nina Simone?” 

Dave shrugged. “She’s pretty kickass,” he said. 

“Well, yes,” Kurt said, “And I really should stop being surprised that you know it, too.” 

Dave snorted. “Yeah, well.” Dave turned the volume down a little bit, to be better heard. “I got my musical tastes from my Grandparents. Gram is fond of Nina, and Ella, and the soulful jazz singers. Papa prefers the crooners. Big band.” Dave shrugged. “But old music isn’t cool, even though its better than a lot of stuff out there, so I don’t spread it around.” 

“Is that all you like?” Kurt asked. 

“Nah,” Dave said. “I like some more modern stuff, too. The Beatles. Queen. Most of the mid-nineties retro swing stuff.” He thought for a moment. “Oh, and Mumford and Sons is pretty kickass. Florence + the Machine. Anything that has, like, real emotion behind it.” 

“Pretty eclectic,” Kurt said. 

Dave nodded. “Yeah, I guess. I never understood how people could like only one kind of music. It seems so--narrow.” Dave glanced over and saw Kurt watching him, a strange expression on his face. “What?” 

“Nothing,” Kurt said. He paused, then, “Don’t tell anyone, but I have some eighties hair metal and hard rock on my guilty pleasures playlist. Living with Finn, it’s kinda grown on me. 

Dave grinned as they pulled into the lot of the pizza place, spotting where the others had already parked. “Your secret’s safe with me.” He parked and followed Kurt inside. 

Dinner post performance was an experience. Dave had already seen how crazy they could get when they were just hanging out, but he thought some of that might have been mitigated by being in public. 

He was wrong. 

They had taken over three booths in the back corner, cramming into and onto each other. Dave ended up in a booth with Kurt, Santana, Brittany, and Quinn. Behind them were Mercedes and Evans and Tina and Mike. And on the other side were Rachel and Finn, Puck, and Artie. After everyone had gone to town on their pizza, Rachel and Quinn sharing a vegan version that went against all laws of God and nature, they were up and talking, leaning over the back of seats, sitting on each other’s laps, blowing straw wrappers at each other. At one point Quinn ended up sitting in Artie’s lap as Puck wheeled them around the empty tables. Dave kept expecting the waitstaff to protest, but they just laughed at them with indulgent eyes. 

Kurt wiggled out to talk to Mercedes, and Brittany plopped down in his seat, leaning against Dave. She grinned up at him. “Hi Cubby!” 

Dave was unsurprised that Brittany knew that name. “Hi Britt,” He said. Dave had always liked Brittany; it was hard not to like someone so sweet. The fact that she was his first kiss didn’t complicate that for long. She had cornered him at a party at the end of sophomore year, saying she was going for a perfect record, and kissed him sweetly on the lips. Afterwards, she had patted him on the cheek, thanked him, and said “boys like chapstick, too.” After Dave had panicked, realized there was no way she could know, told himself no one would believe her if she told them, he could admit that, as nice as the kiss was, he didn’t really feel anything. It was the incident that really lead Dave to question his sexuality and, while Dave had resented her for a while, he couldn’t keep it up. Now that Dave was finally settling into his skin, he was starting to feel the need to thank her. 

That he usually had chapstick on him now was a complete coincidence. Honest. 

“I’m glad you’re not angry anymore,” she said. “You’re much more fun when you’re happy.” 

Dave smiled. “Thanks Britt. I think so, too.” 

She nodded. “I’m glad Kurt makes you happy.” Dave froze and she leaned up to whisper, ‘Do you remember the chapstick?” 

Dave forced himself to nod. She grinned. “Good! He liked mine. It tastes like root beer.” 

“Good to know,” Dave said, faintly. “Britt, can you, maybe, not spread that around? Not yet, anyway? I’m not really ready for people to know.” 

Britt rolled her eyes. “I won’t. ‘Tana’s already told me.” She grinned, suddenly sly. “I can at least wait until you let Kurt know.” 

Dave snorted and rubbed the back of his neck. “Thanks, Britt.” He hesitated. “It might be a while.” Like, never, maybe. Kurt doesn’t like me that way.

“Britt-Britt,” Santana called, and Brittany waved to her. 

“I gotta go.” She hugged him again. “You’re a good Cubby,” she said, and bounced away. Dave, like whenever he talked to Brittany, was part bemused and part shaken. 

Dave looked around, and realized how lucky he was to have been taken into this group. Maybe Puck was right, maybe he was a groupie, one that got to hand with the band. They might not be “cool,” but they were all pretty awesome, and it felt good to have a group of friends. 

Kurt sat back down next to Dave, picking up another slice of pizza. He grinned at Dave and Dave felt his heart flutter. 

Between his failing friendship with Az, the clusterfuck that was going to be this Thanksgiving, and the nosedive his popularity would be taking after Hockey Tryouts next week, he was going to need all the friends he could get.


	3. Outside the Wall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hockey Tryouts, Dave vs The Closet: losing friends and gaining allies

Hockey tryouts were were Monday after school. Dave talked to Beiste, and she signed off on him missing practice to attend the tryouts, under the logic that he could still play on Saturday if he only missed Monday’s practice. So Dave tossed his Hockey gear in the back of his truck before he left for school, and thanked his lucky stars that he had continued to skate in the off-season. There was an indoor rink almost three hours out of town, but it was worth the drive, especially in the summer when he could use the practice to escape the heat. Still, it had been a while since he had worn the pads for any length of time (though he had tried them on to make sure they still fit properly, and had spent most of last night wearing them again, to start to get used to them), and he hoped it didn’t hurt his chances _too_ badly. 

Az wasn’t waiting for him at the door when Dave pulled up, and while Dave didn’t want to read into it, he couldn’t help but think it was a bad sign. Dave didn’t see him until History, and while Dave still sat next to him, Az didn’t say much. Now that his cold had passed, Dave knew there was something wrong. _Not today,_ he thought. _Not with tryouts, please, just not today._

Somebody must have been listening, because Az didn’t say anything, and even nodded at Dave as they parted ways after class. Dave pushed it out of his mind. He was going to focus on the tryouts. He was making the team. 

“You all right?” Kurt asked later in in English. “You look--tense.” Dave looked. He had been staring at his desk, tapping his pen, and hadn’t noticed Kurt come in. 

“Hockey tryouts,” Dave said. He realized his leg was jumping. He stopped it. A second later, it started again. 

“Nervous?” Kurt asked, eyeing his leg. 

“Nope,” Dave said. He tapped his pen. 

Kurt tried, and failed, to hide a grin. “I think you’re lying to me.” 

Dave shook his head. “Never.” 

“Okay,” Kurt said. “I get it, I won’t push.” 

Dave lasted less than a minute. “It’s been a year since I played, and that’s a lot for sports. I have to make the team, Kurt.” 

“Dave,” Kurt said. “I hate to put it this way, but McKinley High isn’t exactly known for its Hockey Team. I don’t think you’re going to have a problem.” 

“I know,” Dave sighed finally letting his leg drop. “But--things that are important to me have a habit of getting fucked up.” 

Kurt didn’t say anything, and when Dave looked up there was that odd look on Kurt’s face again. “What?” Dave asked. 

“Nothing, I just,” Kurt cleared his throat. “I know what you mean.” 

Mrs. Finch clapped her hands, way too excited about whatever she was going to teach, and Dave never got the opportunity to ask Kurt what, exactly, he meant. After Sebastian’s revelation on Saturday, Dave found he wanted to know everything that was going on with Kurt; he wanted to be there for Kurt, didn’t want to get sideswiped by the drama again. 

And if talking to Dave meant Kurt wasn’t talking to Sebastian, well, Dave wasn’t going to complain. 

***

McKinley didn’t have its own Hockey Rink; practices were held at the community center, as were their home games. After Freshman and Sophomore year on the team, Dave knew the routine. Wait for the Football team to leave the locker room. Change, wearing as many pads as possible. Get on the bus. Travel to the center. Get off the bus. Finish dressing. Get on the ice. 

Dave knew a few of the others from his time on the team. For the most part, they greeted him as an old friend, with welcome back slaps on his shoulders, and friendly nods. Cooper, who was a Freshman when Dave was a Sophomore, had been on the team with him for only a year, but in the year off he had been made captain, and took Dave’s return as a personal affront, saying when he thought Dave couldn’t hear, “We don’t need any meathead sellout taking up our ice.” 

Cooper didn’t say anything to him, as Dave had a good six inches and at least fifty pounds on him, but Cooper glared and grunted, surly. Dave figured it had something to do with the mullet, and Dave’s refusal to grow one like the rest of the team. _Sorry,_ Dave thought, _there is just no excuse for a mullet._

There were a few that Dave didn’t recognize, new members. They clustered around Cooper, shared his sullen looks, but said nothing outright. Still, it was easy enough to slip back into the groove, and once he was on the ice, it was as if he had never left. 

By the time tryouts were over, even Cooper’s gang had warmed to Dave, though Cooper himself was still standoffish. Dave figured he’d come around, or not, but he wasn’t going to let it affect his game. Dave rode the high all the way back to the locker room at McKinley. 

Dave stopped in Beiste’s office to check in as the rest of the team passed him. Beiste reaffirmed that they would work around the schedule as needed, and asked how he was doing with the GSA. 

“Good,” Dave said. “Kurt and I have the next few weeks pretty much planned. Halloween was a big hit, so we were thinking about some kind of Holiday thing, maybe something smaller scale and in school on the last Tuesday before break?” 

“Sounds good to me,” Beiste said. “I’ll get the forms.” 

Most of the team was leaving the showers when Dave finally got there, and he was the last one finished. The rest of the team filtered out, and Dave was the last one left, tying his shoes. He stood, pocketing his wallet, his keys. He grabbed his Letterman when he heard the door open. He turned, thinking it was someone from the team coming back for a left bag or jacket, and froze when he saw Az in the doorway. 

Az was oddly hesitant, in a way that was hard to imagine from a guy of his size, like an elephant pausing before a step. Dave swallowed. 

“Hey, Az,” he said, trying for normal. But his voice caught and cracked in the middle. He cleared his throat. “What’s up?” 

“I’ve been doing some thinking,” Az said, walking closer. “And I’m not liking what I’m coming up with.” Dave shifted on his feet, and tightened his grip on his jacket. “See, I keep wondering why, if this gay crap was just to make nice with the school, you’d choose to hang with those losers instead of me.” 

Dave wondered if Beiste was still in her office. Would she heard him if he yelled? Would he need to? It was Az--it could go either way. 

“I mean--there has to be a reason why you’d want to hang with them and not me. So what could it be?” Az said. He kept walking closer with slow steps. Dave resisted the urge to move away; he couldn’t run. “But thinking about _why,_ man, that just brings up more questions. Like why you picked on Hummel so bad, and why I’ve never heard you crush on a girl. Hell, I’ve never heard you talk about girls ever.” Az shrugged. “I’ve only got one answer.” 

_This is it,_ Dave thought. _He knows._ “What do you want me to say?” 

Az’s face was unreadable. “That’s not a ‘no.’” 

Dave felt his heart thump hard in his chest. “No,” he said, feeling cold. “It’s not.” 

“So that’s it, then?” Az said. “You a fag now?” 

“I’m gay, yeah,” Dave said, feeling his anger spark just enough to add some steel to his voice, to add a bit of defiance to his stance. 

“You--” Az turned away, shifting from foot to foot. “”How can you just say that?”

“I’ve had some practice,” Dave said, and tried not to shake. So far Az hadn’t tried to hit him, hadn’t run out disgusted, but it was early yet, and Dave didn’t want to make and sudden moves. “It’s not easy, and I don’t want everybody to know, yet.” 

Az stopped and stared at Dave sideways. “Who knows?” 

“Coach.” Dave said. “My grandparents. Kurt.” 

“Hummel knows?!” 

Dave shrugged. He wasn’t going to get into that with Az, not now. Az looked away, studying the locker. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Az asked. 

“Why do you think?” Dave asked, quietly. “You’ve been calling things you don’t like ‘fag’ this and ‘homo’ that, and I’ve never known if you meant it or it’s just the way you talk, man,” Dave said, bringing his fist up in earnest, waving the jacket. “You’re my _best friend,_ ” Dave let his hand drop back to his side. Dave opened his mouth to say more, that he didn’t want to lose Az as his friend, but--Az was shaking his head and Dave was pretty sure he had already lost. 

“I don’t--” Az swallowed. “I’m not okay with this. You being all gay all of a sudden.” 

Dave let his gaze drop and closed his eyes. “It doesn’t work that way; I’m the same guy I’ve always been,” he said. His voice was choked with everything he was trying to push down, all the fear and confusion and anger he felt last year. It had taken a lot before Dave could accept all of himself, could accept that since he had always been gay that acknowledging it didn’t change anything about _who he was._ He just didn’t know how to convince Az of that, that the only thing changing was how honest Dave was with everyone, including himself. 

Az didn’t hear him. He heard Az shuffled, then looked up, started, when Az banged his fist against a locker. “I can’t do this,” Az said, and turned to leave. 

“Az!” Dave called after him, stepping towards him, and Az held up his hand. 

“I’m--I won’t tell, or nothin’.” He said. He looked away. “But, uh. It might be best if you don’t talk to me anymore.” 

“Az--”

But Az didn’t stop this time, and was gone before Dave could force himself to move. Dave stared at the door, half-hoping Az would come back, say it was all a mistake, that everything was okay. But nobody came though. Dave could hear himself breathe; it was all he could hear over the thudding of his heart and the roaring in his mind as everything he’d pushed down, pushed away, tried to forget rose up from where it had waited, festering under the surface. 

Fuck. _Fuck!_ Why did he have to tell Az? Why did he stay at that _stupid_ party? Why did he agree to that _goddamned_ GSA in the first place? Why did he agree to everyone _Hummel_ said? Why did he have to be a _fucking faggot--_

Dave yelled, wordless, as he spun and punched his locker. The metal dented under his fist and the pain, sharp and bright, cleared away his swarming rage, and he sank onto the bench, cradling his hand in his lap. He didn’t think anything was broken, but he knew it would swell without ice. He didn’t move. 

Dave wasn’t sure how long he had sat there, it couldn’t have been long, when he heard Beiste's voice call through the locker room, “Coming in!” and she opened the door. He realized his face was wet; he had been crying. He scrubbed his face with his good hand and drew himself up before she--

“Karofsky?” Beiste said, coming around the lockers. “Dave, what happened?” 

Dave wasn’t going to talk about it. It was over; in the past. Nothing could be done.  
“I told Az,” he said. “He--” Dave’s voice cracked and he stopped talking. He grabbed his jacket and his keys. “I gotta go,” he muttered, and pushed past her. 

“Dave,” Besite called after him.

“I’m fine,” Dave said, not turning around. “I’m going home.” He escaped to his truck. 

***

Dave didn’t remember the drive home. One moment he was in the school parking lot, the next he was in his driveway, listening to the engine tick as it cooled, and staring at the closed garage door. His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he dug it out. A text from Kurt. 

_How did your audition go?_

Dave stared at the screen for a moment. _Audition? Wha--oh. Ha._

_tryouts ok, lol. looks good._

He held his phone in his hands for a long moment, thumb tapping the keypad. 

_i told az._

Dave looked up from his phone. The lights were off in the house. Nobody was home. Dave tried to remember where his parents were going, but there was nothing--His phone rang. 

“Hey.”

 _“Oh my God, Dave. What happened?”_ Kurt’s voice was serious, concerned; like he knew it hadn’t gone well. 

“He asked. I said yes. He left. He--” Dave clenched his jaw. “He said not to talk to him anymore.”

 _“Where are you?”_ Kurt asked. 

“My driveway?” Dave said. 

_“I’m coming over.”_

“What? No, Kurt--” Dave protested, but it wasn’t very hard. “I’m fine,” he tried instead. Luckily, Kurt wasn’t to be dissuaded. 

_“I’ll be there in ten minutes. Don’t go anywhere.”_ Kurt hung up the phone and Dave looked at the darkened screen. He should call Kurt back, tell him not to bother. He didn’t want Kurt to see him like this. 

Then again, Kurt had already seen Dave at his worst, uncontrollable in the locker room, in shambles in the hallway--

The next thing Dave knew, Kurt was knocking at his window. Dave opened the door, and Kurt was there, reaching in to get him out, talking the entire time. 

“Have you just been sitting here? Dave, it’s _November._ I meant, _don’t leave your house._ You could have frozen out here! Your hands are like ice! How long--”

“Chill, Fancy,” Dave said, not fighting the tiny smile that wanted to appear on his face despite his mood. “I haven’t been here long.” 

Kurt humphed. “Any length is too long. It’s freezing. Let’s get you inside.” 

Dave let himself be pulled from the cab, waving Kurt off with a muttered, “it’s fine. I just need some ice,” when he noticed Dave’s hand. He grabbed his bookbag, remembering his gear at the last minute. He let Kurt hustle him along, feeling the numbness in his chest finally ease as Kurt turned on the lights and sat Dave at the kitchen table with a cold pack from the freezer. 

“Okay,” Kurt said. “Tea. Tea is soothing. Do you drink tea?” 

Dave made a face. “Not if I can help it. Tastes like boiled leaves.” 

Kurt made a face. Dave should have known Kurt was a tea drinker. Figures. He’s probably hear about it later. “Coffee? Soda?” Kurt asked. 

“You don’t have to play host, you know,” Dave said. Kurt rolled his eyes. 

“Shut up. It’s not like you can,” Kurt gestured at Dave’s hand. “You want coffee or soda?” 

“Soda’s fine. Bottom shelf in the ‘fridge,” Dave said. Dave took it as a sign of how shaken he really was when he didn’t try to watch Kurt’s ass when he bent over. Kurt placed the soda in front of Dave, and sat across the table, opening his own can. 

“Now,” Kurt said. “What happened.” 

And Dave told him; how the tryouts had gone so well despite Cooper’s weird behavior, how he had felt good about it and had been the last in the locker room, how Az had cornered him and Dave had admitted it, had said “I’m gay,” and Az had--had. Dave stopped and drank some soda to get rid of the knot in his throat. 

“It was like the last few months hadn’t happened and I was like I used to be, all mixed up and angry and I just wanted to hit something.” Dave laughed bitterly. “It’s a good thing I was alone; I’m not sure The Fury wouldn’t have made a guest appearance.” 

Kurt snorted. “Looks like ‘The Fury’ got what was coming to him.” 

Dave pulled the pack off his hand to look at his knuckles. They were purple, and still twice the size they should be, and the skin had broken over his first two knuckles upon impact, so the area was smeared with dried blood. But he could move all his fingers, and the pain had dulled to bruise, and hadn’t developed the sickening crunch of broken bones. Dave hadn’t been lying before, when he said he had gotten worse from football. He should be alright from the game. He’s keep ice on it tonight, and wrap it to keep the swelling from coming back. 

Kurt reached out a hands and gripped Dave’s arm. His face looked like it had in the hallway, soft with feeling, and his eyes held understanding and sympathy. It didn’t hurt any less, but knowing Kurt didn’t pity him made it a little easier to bear. He didn’t feel good, but he didn’t feel hopeless anymore, either.

“I don’t know why I’m like this,” Dave admitted. “I didn’t expect anything different.” 

“Knowing something bad will happen and having something bad happen are two different things,” Kurt said. “Because as long as it hasn’t happened, there’s a chance it might not. But Dave--,” Kurt leaned in. “It’s been my experience that your emotions are your emotions, and no amount of foresight has any bearing on what you actually feel.” 

Dave snorted. “That’s balls,” he said, but couldn’t argue with it. Kurt smiled wryly, and Dave sighed, sitting back. “Well, at least he’s not going to tell anybody.” 

Kurt sipped his soda quickly, like he was trying not to say something, and Dave rolled his eyes. “Say it.” 

“Would it be so bad?” Kurt asked. “If he told? Then everyone would know and you wouldn’t have to worry.” 

Dave shook his head. “I don’t want to be out until after Hockey. I don’t want to deal with those locker rooms, you know that, Kurt.” 

“I know,” Kurt said quickly. “And i’m not saying it’s a bad decision--I think it’s wise, considering, but--” Kurt sighed. “I just don’t want you to hurt anymore.” 

Dave let out a breath of laughter. “Yeah, me either.” He smiled wryly, and Kurt bit his lip. He stood, urging Dave to do the same. “Why?” Dave asked as he stood. 

“Don’t freak out,” Kurt said. “But I think you need this,” and without any other warning, Kurt stepped into Dave’s personal space, and wrapped his arms around Dave in a tight hug. Dave’s arms came up of their own accord and rested against Kurt’s shoulder blades. Kurt squeezed and Dave tightened his grip, relaxing into the hold. Kurt was almost as tall as he was, only an inch or two difference, so it was easy for Dave to lower his head, rest it on Kurt’s shoulder. It smelled like Kurt’s shampoo, something fragrant yet unmistakably male, and Dave shivered when Kurt cupped a hand around the back of Dave’s neck. 

It was--disconcerting--how well they fit together, and did nothing to help Dave rid himself of the crush that he was starting to suspect was more than just a crush. 

Kurt laughed. It rumbled pleasantly against Kurt’s chest. “What?” Dave asked. 

“Nothing,” Kurt said, close to Dave’s ear. “Just, how far we’ve come, yeah?” 

Dave nodded. It felt like it should have been awkward, holding--being held by Kurt, but it didn’t, not even a little bit. “Thank you,” Dave said, and meant it. For everything; for forgiving him, for giving him another chance, for not giving up, for being there, for coming over tonight. Just--everything. Kurt flushed, Dave could almost feel the heat of it, and ducked his head. 

“You’re welcome,” he said, and gently squeezed the back of Dave’s neck. 

Dave thought about ending the hug, offering to put on a movie or something, provide some entertainment. They could go over their plan for the GSA this week, or see if anything was on TV or play _Guitar Hero_ or _Mario Kart._ And he would offer, turn an emergency into hanging out to get some normalcy back, but for now he was enjoying a rare peaceful moment with Kurt Hummel in the kitchen of his empty house. Everything else could wait. 

***

The rest of Dave’s week passed relatively uneventfully. Az changed his seat in history, and there was a general rumble along the social network that there had been a falling out between the two of them. But, between the Bullywhips last year, and his work with the GSA this year, Dave didn’t see a noticeable difference in his place in the hierarchy. Jewfro stuck his camera in Dave’s face at one point, talking all sorts of wild rumors about why they had split, but that was easily enough fixed by taking the camera and removing the battery pack. He handed it off to Lauren Zizes, who was walking in the other direction. She looked at him with her eyebrow raised, but she smirked when she saw Jewfro staring after him and Dave walked off, secure in the knowledge that he wouldn’t be bothering Dave again. 

Santana sat next to him during GSA, offering nothing except her presence, but Dave got the message. _I’m here._

The glocks didn’t treat him any differently. Dave wasn’t surprised, but he was relieved. It was good to know that some things wouldn’t change. 

And Kurt surprised him. He didn’t act as if nothing had happened, but he didn’t draw attention to it, either. He simply _was_ around Dave, like the last of his defenses had dropped. It was like--since Kurt had seen Dave so low, and Dave hated that he kept doing that with Kurt, but who else--nobody else knew Dave the way Kurt knew Dave. And maybe that’s what it was. Kurt knew Dave, so maybe he was letting Dave see _him_ in return. It was--nice. Good. Better, even, and Dave knew it was a lost cause. If he didn’t love Kurt already, it was only a matter of time. 

The results of the Hockey tryouts were posted Friday, and Dave waited until the last possible moment to check. It was almost anticlimactic, seeing his name on the list. He grinned slowly, banged his fist against the wall in triumph, and jogged off to the locker room to change for the game. To make things even better, they continued their undefeated season with a win of 24-0. 

With nothing to do the next day, Dave left for _Scandals_ straight from the game. Sal waved him in with a grin, and a comment about “somebody getting lucky.” Dave laughed, and headed for the back corner where Mitch and Steve were sitting with their drinks watching Ted and Mike sway on the dance floor. 

“Somebody got lucky,” Steve said as Dave slid into the booth next to Mitch. 

“Everybody keeps saying that,” Dave said. 

“Look at the evidence,” Steve said. “You’re smiling, which is a first without a beer in your hand, and it’s not that shy little boy thing you’ve got down, which is definitely a first.” 

“Fuck you,” Dave said said, good naturedly, as Mitch chuckled into his beer. 

“You’re here without your hat,” Mitch added.

“Cubby!” Steve sat up straight. “Did you come out?” 

Dave startled. “Not--well--” Dave sighed and tried again. “I told my best friend, and he’s now my ex-best friend,” Steve winced and Mitch gestured at the bar for another beer. “But then I found out today that I made the Hockey team and the Titans won, continuing our undefeated streak.” Dave grinned. “And the boy I like keeps hugging me, so, you know. Balances.” 

“What balances?” Mike asked and he and Ted finally joined them at the table. 

“Cubby’s love life,” Steve said. 

Mitch rolled his eyes. “He’s had an eventful week,” he said, a more serious tone in his voice. Ted sobered immediately. 

“What happened?” He asked. Dave sighed. He had hoped he wouldn’t have to keep telling this story. There was sharing the burden and there was talking it to death. 

“My best friend confronted me in the locker room, and when I told him I was gay, he told me never to speak to him again.” 

Andy, the red-headed waiter that everyone knew had a thing for Mitch, except for Mitch, put Dave’s beer in front of him. “On the house,” he said. “I couldn’t help but hear.” He patted Dave’s shoulder and went back to the bar, pausing only to give Mitch a once over. Seriously, was the man blind? Dave slumped back in the seat. 

“Man,” he said. “Everybody’s going to know by midnight, aren’t they.” He sipped his beer sullenly. There was a difference between commiserating with your friends, and having the entire bar look at you like your life was falling apart. Because it wasn’t. It hurt like a sonofabitch, but Dave’s life was more put together now than it had been in years. He didn’t need anyone’s pity. 

“I wouldn’t worry too much,” Ted said. 

“Yeah,” Mike agreed. “Most of ‘em won’t care to do more than think _well that sucks,_ and then go back to whatever they were doing before.” And Mike was right. Nobody else approached him; nobody even really looked his way. That is, until Sebastian oozed from the crowd, appearing at Dave’s elbow. 

“Well, well. Howdy, Cubby,” Sebastian said, kneeling on the seat of the booth behind Dave. “Surprised to see you here; I heard you got dumped.” 

Dave turned in his seat to look at Sebastian and raised an eyebrow at him. “You need to get new spies,” he said. “I’d have to be dating someone before I could get dumped.” 

Sebastian reached across Dave’s body and grabbed his beer, taking a sip while Dave watched, incredulous. Dave opened his mouth to protest, thought about it, and shook his head. It wasn’t worth it. 

“So you’re unattached?” Sebastian said, wrapping his lips around the rim of the bottle. Dave heard the other bears trying to stifle their laughter, and he rolled his eyes. 

“Stop molesting my beer, dude. It’s not going to happen.” 

Sebastian pulled the bottle from his mouth with a pop, his put-upon look exaggerated. “Oh, why not?” he asked. Pouted. Pout-asked. 

“Because you didn’t bring me flowers,” Dave said, and snatched his beer back. It was empty. Jackass. He sniffed. “I deserve at least flowers.”

Sebastian blinked at Dave, thrown, before he started to laugh. “It was a long shot, anyway.” He said, and Dave felt reassured that Sebastian had known he had no chance, though he wasn’t quite sure why. Maybe it was the assumption that it meant that Dave had options. “I knew I had you pegged as the romantic type.” 

“You haven’t _pegged_ me at all,” Dave said, because he clearly spent too much time talking to Santana. “And you drank all my beer.” 

“I’ll get you another,” Sebastian said. He looked at the rest of the guys at the table. “Hi,” he said to them. “I’m Sebastian.” 

“We know,” Steve freaking _purred,_ and Dave had to roll his eyes again, because _seriously, Steve?_ The others gave their names and Dave considered Sebastian. He wasn’t so surprised to see him this time, after Saturday he’d have been a bit surprised if he _hadn’t_ come over to say hi, but it was still a little strange. 

Sebastian nudged his arm. “Seriously, though. I’m sorry to hear about your friend.” 

“It’s okay,” Dave said. “It wasn’t unexpected. And Kurt bore the brunt of it when it happened.” 

“Uh huh,” Sebastian said. “Thought so.” 

“What?” Dave asked, suddenly wary. 

Sebastian shook his head. “Nothing, just--you say his name the same way he says yours.” 

Dave blinked. “He talks about me?” 

“He never shuts up,” Sebastian said. “Please tell me you have plans to tap that, Cubby. Because somebody needs to, and he obviously wants it to be you.” 

“I--” Dave said. “He talks about me all the time?” 

“Oh, God save me from love-struck teenagers,” Sebastian said, standing. “I’m going to go find me twenty minutes of love on the dance floor. I’ll come back when you get those hearts out of your eyes.” He stalked off, but Dave really couldn’t care. Kurt talked about him. 

He heard someone snort and he looked up to see Mitch, Steve, Mike, and Ted all staring at him with ill-repressed laughed. 

“Oh, fuck,” Dave said. They were never going to let him live this down. At least Sebastian made good on his word and sent a beer Dave’s way a few minutes later. 

***

On Saturday Dave met Kurt at the Lima Bean. He stared blearily into his cup of coffee as he waited for the caffeine to kick in. He wasn’t hungover, he hadn’t had that much to drink, but he hadn’t slept well, and it showed. 

“Well, we have two ways we can go on Tuesday,” Kurt said, pulling out the GSA binder. It was blue and had TOP SECRET: THE GAY AGENDA in rainbow letters on the cover. Dave had given it to Kurt on their third meeting, when they had finally accumulated enough paperwork to make it necessary. Kurt had pulled a face, but it hadn’t lasted long before he had laughed. “We can continue the debate from last week--”

Dave grunted. Last week they had debated the impact of shows like _Will and Grace_ and _The Ellen Show_ versus _Queer as Folk._ The debate had grown quite heated, with Lauren Pizes of all people the loudest voice in the room, but Dave hadn’t watched any of them, and hadn’t added much to the debate. 

“Or we can talk about stereotypes in general, and especially here at the school.” 

“I like that idea,” Dave said. “It’ll get more people talking.” 

“Excellent!” Kurt grinned, and marked something down in the book, and Dave nursed his cup of coffee. As he watched the way Kurt’s cheeks flushed with excitement, and idea formed in his mind, small at first, but growing larger as the coffee worked its way through his system. By the time Dave finished the last of his cup, he was decided. Tuesday. He would do it Tuesday. 

Of course, he changed his mind a hundred times between his meeting with Kurt and the start of the GSA meeting, finally deciding he would see how it went before committing. 

Kurt started them off, introducing the topic, and asking if anybody wanted to go first. “It can be any stereotype,” he said, “Just one that irks you.” 

“I’ll start,” Tina said. “I hated it when people would assume I was suicidal just because I dressed in black. Or the opposite, that I was going to hurt someone else. I don’t know which is worse, but it’s part of the reason why I stopped dressing that way.” She paused. “The other reason was Figgins--he kept putting garlic in my locker thinking I was a vampire.” 

Dave snorted at that. Kurt tilted his head, amused but bewildered, and said. “Excellent. Who else?” 

“I hated people thinking I was dumb because I’m a blond cheerleader,” Quinn said. She smirked. “Though, it did come in handy sometimes.” 

“I hate people thinking I can’t enjoy singing because I’m the quarterback,” Finn said. “That counts, right?” He looked at Kurt, and Kurt nodded. 

“Yes, Finn, that counts.” 

“I hate that people think unicorns are peaceful,” Brittany said. Dave raised an eyebrow. This was going to be good. “Yes, they’re made of magic and rainbows, but if you cross them they’re gut you with their horn and dance on your bones with diamond hooves.” 

There was silence for a moment as everyone digested that. “I see your point, Brittany. That is horrible,” Kurt said. 

“I’ve got one,” Beiste cut in, and Dave looked over, surprised. “I hate it when people assume I’m not a woman. Or that my appearance in anyway dictates who I’m interested in. Just because I don’t fit in an narrow ideal of femininity, doesn’t mean I’m a man.” 

“Exactly,” Kurt said. “I’ve been dealing with the reverse of that all my life. Yes, in many ways I am a walking stereotype. I’m a flamboyant gay man who likes musical theatre and fashion. But that’s exactly it. I’m a gay man. Not a woman. And I hate being treated like one, especially since most people treat women as less whether they realize it or not.” 

There were murmurs of assent from the girls in the room, and Brett raised a fist and said, “preach!” Dave wasn’t quite sure what that was about, but he seemed sincere. 

Puck raised his hand. Kurt rolled his eyes, “Yes, Puck?” 

“But--then why do you always hang with the chicks?” 

Kurt sighed. “Because, for a long time, girls were the only ones willing to be friends with me. So naturally, they’re some of my oldest friends.” 

Puck had the grace to look sheepish, and Kurt went on. “Which brings me to another pet peeve. gay stereotypes in general. The common theme with all of these stereotypes, is that they’re all a poor fit for who we really are. And some people who fit one stereotype will fit it more or less than another person. You cannot judge people based on stereotypes.” 

“Right,” Dave said. “That’s part of why this club exists. The safe space we’re creating here is one where we look past stereotypes to see the people.” 

Kurt grinned at him, and said. “Yes. So let’s talk about some of the stereotypes, the gay stereotypes, that are out there.” Kurt raised an arm and flipped his hand with flair. “Exhibit A: The Flamboyant Gay.” Dave chuckled softly to himself as Kurt talked. “The Flamboyant Gay. We are assumed to be feminine in dress and appearance, we lisp, we’re submissive, we’re catty, we like musical theatre, we’re out to seduce every man, we all know fashion and are all either interior designers or hairdressers. We can’t like sports, or cars, or any other ‘manly’ things. Most people assume all gay men are The Flamboyant Gay.” 

“The truth is,” Dave said. “For every gay man who flounces,” he grinned at Kurt, who stuck out his tongue, “There are those who are just--guys, and like sports and cars and couldn’t give a crap about fashion or broadway, and are hairy and burly and are Dudes.” Dave took a deep breath and prayed his voice wouldn’t shake, and said, “Like me,” and closed his eyes. 

“Exactly,” Kurt said. “Like-- _Dave!_ ” Dave felt Kurt’s hand on his shoulder, and he looked up at him, flashing a nervous smile. The silence from the rest of the room wasn’t comforting, per say, but his breathing was even, and he didn’t have the aching fear that usually accompanied Dave’s thoughts of outing himself. Or rather, he felt it, but it stayed at manageable levels. Dave reached up and patted Kurt’s hand; Kurt turned his hand over and gripped Dave’s fingers tightly for a moment. Dave didn’t let go. 

“Wait,” it was Finn. “You’re gay? For real?” 

“Yeah,” Dave said. “You were right.” Finn nodded, but he still looked confused. “But, uh, I’m--I don’t want to spread it around. I just--in case anything comes out, I wanted you all to know from me.” 

“You told Adams,” Evans said. “That’s why you don’t talk anymore.” Dave nodded. “Dude, that sucks.” 

“Yeah,” Dave said. “But--that’s why we exist.” 

“Well, I think it was very brave of you, David,” Berry said. “Even if it was--unexpected.” 

“It took guts,” Sylvester said. “And Sue Sylvester knows from guts. Good work, Cubby.” She winked at him, and Dave nodded and muttered his thanks, unable to get the images of his friends, shaken at her name, out of his head. 

“But you dated Santana,” Finn said, mostly to himself and still confused. 

Santana rolled her eyes. “The stereotype I hate? That all lesbains look like K.D Lang.” She crossed her arms and said. “It was a cover, Frankenteen.” 

Dave looked at Santana, but she was glaring at Finn. Without letting go of Kurt’s hand, Dave leaned back and placed an arm around her shoulders. She stiffened, but eased after a moment, even letting her one arm drop to link pinkys with Brittany. 

“I think that’s it for today,” Beiste said. “We still have another twenty minutes, so why don’t we all have some cookies and talk; try get to know the person behind the stereotype.” There was a low murmur and people headed for the snack table. 

“Well,” Mercedes said, walking over to them. “That was exciting.” 

“Gays do drama best, darling,” Kurt said, and freaking fluttered his eyelashes. 

Santana snorted, “Way to defy stereotypes, Ladyface.” 

Dave raise his hand and, with a straight face, triple snapped. He didn’t last long under the incredulous looks from the other three, and he laughed. He had done it. He had come out to the GSA. He just wished it felt more like a victory, and less like a contingency plan. 

The glocks plus Rachel joined them a moment later. Rachel was nibbling on a vegan cookies, and Finn and Puck were balancing a dozen cookies between them. 

 

“Dude,” Puck said, raising a hand. “Honestly. Did you check a bro out?” 

_“Puck!”_ Kurt scolded, as Rachel screeched, _“Noah!”_

“It’s a serious question!” Puck protested. “I’m hot, I’d check me out! So tell me, am I fine, or am I fine?” Finn choked on a piece of cookie and Evans pounded him on the back. 

“I’m not feeding your ego, Puckerman,” Dave said. Because truth was, he had checked Puck out. Dave was pretty sure the straight guys on the team had checked Puck out. And just because Puck wasn’t really his type, didn’t mean Dave was blind. Or dead. 

Puck pointed at him, “That’s not a no.” 

Kurt rolled his eyes, and grabbed one of Puck’s cookies. When Puck tried to protest, Kurt stuck the cookie in his mouth. Artie held his plate out to Dave, and he took an oatmeal raisin with a nod of thanks. Artie leaned in while Kurt threatened Puck. 

“Saturday. My place. Left 4 Dead.” 

Dave nodded. “I’ll bring something sweet.” 

“Righteous,” Artie said, and bumped his fist. 

***

Dave’s luck held for the rest of the week. Nobody was talking about him, which was nice, but Az’s continued absence from his life sucked. When he was home, his mother drafted him into helping to prepare the house for company, cleaning the guest room and setting up the extra beds. They were due to arrive on Sunday, his Uncle TJ, Aunt Anne, and Cousin Tom, and would be staying through the end of Thanksgiving weekend. 

Paul had taken to closing himself in his study and ignoring the preparations. He still wasn’t happy, and his displeasure was made clear in the story silence during dinner. Dave got his own dinner when he could, and became a more permanent presence at the Lima Bean, where he found himself sharing a table in silence with Sebastian, of all people, more often than not. He thought about asking, but never actually did. Sebastian wouldn’t tell him why, anyway. Dave assumed it to mean he wanted to be friends, but wasn’t exactly sure how; Dave was pretty sure Sebastian didn’t have many. 

Thursday night, Dave claimed his table in the back, one large enough to sit four, and spread his math homework out in front of him. He used to get a little table, but between the size of his textbooks, and the fact that he sat with someone most days now, he thought the larger table was wise. He wasn’t surprised when, a few minutes later, Sebastian sat across from him. He _was_ surprised when _Kurt_ sat next to him. 

“I met your little study buddy in line,” Kurt said to Dave’s startled, _Hey._

“He invited himself along,” Sebastian said, pulling out his own textbook. French, today. 

“It’s cool,” Dave said, smiling at Kurt. He saw Sebastian rolling his eyes in his peripheral vision, but whatever. Kurt smiled back, and pulled out his--huh. His French textbook. Dave turned back to his numbers. It was quiet at that table for a few moments before Kurt said; 

“Oh, do you have Simmons?” 

Dave looked up, confused, but Kurt was talking to Sebastian. _“Oui,”_ he said, then something else that Dave didn’t catch, which wasn’t surprising _because he didn’t speak French,_ and Kurt chittered something back, and Dave hoped they weren’t talking about him, because, based on their expressions, they weren’t talking about their homework. Dave rolled his eyes; they were probably trading their usual insults, just, you know, not in English. Wonderful. Dave would hope they could be friends one day, but he was pretty sure this was them as friends. It was easy enough to ignore, however, and Dave finished his homework as Kurt and Sebastian snarked at each other in French. 

***

Saturday was--interesting. Dave showed up at Artie’s with a batch of mini-chip blondies that were appropriated by Puck before Dave even made his way inside. The way he moaned around the first bite was obscene. 

“Fuck, Marry me,” Puck said as best he could around the mouthful of blondie. 

“You don’t want me, you want my cookies,” Dave said. Puck smirked at that, and Dave rolled his eyes pushing past him into the house. Puck followed him and, while he didn’t propose again, Dave couldn't shake the feeling that Puck was half-hitting on him. Honestly, Dave wouldn’t be surprised if Puck swung his way, at least a little bit--some of the pool cleaning stories were edited around what Dave was sure was the presence of the one woman’s husband, and Dave could never tell if the comfort level between Puck and Finn was best bros or something more, but Dave doubted Puck would admit to that in High school, if he ever did. 

Case in point, when Dave followed Puck in the entertainment room, Puck dropped down onto the couch and sprawled so he was half in Finn’s lap. Finn, for his part, shifted to accommodate in such a way that it was obvious that they sat like that often enough that the movement wasn’t totally conscious; Finn was too focused on the screen. 

The coffee table was covered in bowls of chips and pretzels, and the tub of blondies that Puck had finally relinquished. Puck leaned his head back onto Finn’s shoulder, chocolate smeared at the corner of his mouth. If Dave didn’t know better, he’d say Puck _purred._

Evans and Chang sat on the floor in front of the TV, shoving at each other as they tried to gain the upper hand. They were playing Mortal Kombat, and it must have been the new one, because Dave didn’t recognize the level. Sweet. 

Dave sat on the empty end of the couch, and Artie rolled up next to him. “Soda’s in the fridge in the kitchen. Rules are, if you get up, bring a round. My mom’s getting up pizza and wings for later, and my Dad mentioned something about doughnuts. Bathroom’s through there,” he pointed. “Now that you’re here, the Zombie killing may commence!” 

“When this level’s over,” Chang said, biting his lip and trying to kick Evans’s avatar--was that Goro?-- in the head. 

“I have you now!” Evans said. Dave thought he was supposed to sound like a bond villian, but he sounded more like he had marbles in his mouth. The game cried out to _Finish Him!_ and Chang slumped in defeat as Goro died a bloody death at Baraka’s hands. Well, blades. 

Artie wheeled over to the XBox, and switched the disks. Chang tossed Dave a controller, and Evans tossed another in Finn’s lap. “Let’s do this!” Finn said, sitting forward, dislodging Puck. 

“Dave, you should play as Zoey,” Puck said. “It’d be, like, ironic or some shit.” 

There was a pause from everyone in the room, then Evans snorted, and Chang started to laugh, and Finn lost the tension in his shoulders. Dave relaxed. This was what he wanted, friends who knew he was gay and weren’t afraid to acknowledge it or let it change the way they acted with him. So Dave rolled his eyes, and choose Zoey. 

But, the next time Puckerman reached for the blondies, Dave kicked the tub out of his reach. 

“Cold, man, cold.” Puck muttered. 

There were a few more rules that Dave learned along the way. If you were the first to die, you gave up your controller to the next person to play. They played through _Left 4 Dead,_ and made a good dent in _Left 4 Dead 2,_ before it was Dave’s turn to get the sodas. He ran into Artie on his way to the kitchen, and Artie led the way. 

“So this is a regular thing?” Dave asked as he pulled cans from the box in the fridge and handed them to Artie. “All the Glee guys?” 

“Yep,” Artie said. “Every other week or so.” 

Dave nodded. “Kurt ever come?” He wasn’t fishing, but he had seen the way Artie had made sure to ask when Kurt wouldn’t overhear. 

Artie hesitated. “Kurt doesn’t like Zombie games.” Dave rasied an eye at Artie. “I’m serious,” Artie protested. “He doesn’t I always invite him if we’re playing _Motorsport_ or _Mario Kart_ or _Rockband._ Sometimes he shows up.” Artie shrugged. “Most of the time he doesn’t.” 

Dave nodded and grabbed the last three sodas himself. 

“Of course,” Artie said. “He may come more often if you’re here.” 

Dave rolled his eyes. “Don’t even,” he said and walked back to the game, Artie chuckling as he wheeled in behind him. 

It was a fun day, and Dave found he was reluctant to leave. He knew that when he went home his father would be locked away, and his mother would probably be going crazy, still, with last minute details. Then he would have to deal with Dr. Banks-call-me-George in the morning and everyone would probably be there by the time he got home and he would have a week of family to deal with. Dave lingered as long as he could, and took the long way home, wandering through the different neighborhoods. 

He considered driving out to Scandals, but in the end he just drove to the outskirts of town and to last year’s makeout point. Lima cycled through them; amorous couples would gather in one place until the cops caught wise, then move on to the next. The cops would patrol the old place until they found the new one, drawing their force to the new place. After a while, the old ones were abandoned by the cops as well, and the teens would return. This place was still empty, as it was still too cold for most people, and the lack of leaves on the trees meant Dave could see the stars through his windshield. Dave sat, thinking, until headlights reminded him that the cops could still come by, and he left. 

Luckily, his mother had gone to bed before he got home. He heard his dad puttering about his office, still, and wondered if he was sleeping in there these days. It wouldn’t surprise him if Paul was. Dave knocked on the door. “Dad?” he called. 

Paul opened the door, ushering Dave inside. Dave always liked Paul’s office; it was homey with soft leather furniture and and old dark wood desk. Paul had the office putter Dave had gotten him as a child set up on the floor. Dave sat in the recliner and watched his father as he set lined up his shot. 

“Everything okay, Dave?” Paul asked. Dave shrugged. He was in a weird mood. He felt a little like a snowball rolling downhill. In less than a month Dave had gone from having a handful of people know to having most of the people he knew know, and it was making Dave less inclined to deal with all the crap that came with being in the closet. 

Paul putted. The ball missed the cup by an inch. Paul grabbed another ball. Dave watched it all happen, thinking back to the last time it was just the two of them, and that odd moment they had shared watching the game and eating pizza. Dave was going to need an ally in the house, and he had to be sure--maybe he could kill two birds with one stone. 

“Is Dr. Banks the only guy in town?” Dave asked. 

Paul paused and looked up. “Is there a problem with Banks? He seemed to be working.” 

Dave shrugged. “I can’t talk to him. How’s he supposed to help me with my anger when I can’t even tell him, I’m gay.” Kurt was right about one thing. It was easier to say every time.

Paul put the putter down. He nodded, slowly. “I can see how that’d be a problem. We can look at getting you one you can be honest with.” 

Dave grinned, relieved, and shook his head. It was odd; Dave didn’t think he’d have to get used to people knowing, but apparently it had happened without him realizing. “I knew it,” he said. “How’d you know?” 

Paul sighed as he sat on the couch across from David. “I’ve suspected for a while. Then with everything with that Hummel kid, then the GSA.” He shrugged. “It wasn’t that big of a leap.” 

Dave nodded “Gram and Papa know. I want to wait to tell Mom until after the Holidays.” 

“I understand,” Paul said. “It’s probably best if your Uncle doesn’t find out.” 

Dave closed his eyes. He had known that, but hearing it--He sighed. “Tommy, too.” 

Paul shook his head. “You telling everybody?” 

Dave nodded. “Yeah. I--I want to come out. Be out. Now to a few people. After Hockey, maybe after High School to everyone.” Paul nodded. 

“In your own time.” Paul looked at the clock. “Speaking of, we’re going to be invaded tomorrow and you need some sleep.” Dave snorted but stood. “Don’t worry about Banks. I’ll call in the morning, cancel your appointment. We’ll find you someone better.” 

Dave smiled. “Thanks, Dad,” he said, and turned to leave.

“Oh, Dave?” 

“Yeah?” Dave turned and his Dad was right there, and pulled him into a tight hug. Dave floundered for a moment, Paul was a single-back-slap kind of man, but quickly rallied and hugged him back. 

“You are my son, and I meant it when I said I’d always love you. Gay or straight. You hear me?” 

“I hear you,” Dave said, then because he’s a smartass at heart: “Even if I go pro with the New York Rangers?” 

Paul paused. “Even then,” he said as if it pained him. Dave laughed and pulled away. 

“Thanks Dad,” Dave said, and left the office. He pulled out his phone and sent a text to Kurt as he closed the door behind him. 

_told my dad. he knew already. there may have been hugs._

Like expected his phone rang a minute later. Dave grinned when he answered. “Hey, Fancy.” 

_“You are on a roll!”_ Kurt said. _“What prompted this?”_

Dave shrugged though Kurt couldn’t see. “With my mom’s family coming in, I thought it’d be a good idea to have someone here who knew. And Dad had pretty much told me he knew without telling me a while ago.” He grinned. “And I think I get a new therapist out of it, so, you know. Bonus.” 

_“That’s great! You know, if he wants to talk to someone about having a gay son, I can ask my dad if he’d be willing. Of course, that means I’d have to tell him.”_

“I think that’s a good idea,” Dave said. “Thank you.” He kicked off his shoes and lay on his bed, staring up at the model planes. “It feels really good to tell people, you know? Even when they don’t react the way we want them too.” 

_“It really does,” Kurt said, softly._

Dave sighed. “I just, heh.” He laughed. “The other day, when I told the GSA, I remember thinking that it was like a contingency plan. Like, I was making arrangements for when shit hit the fan. This--kinda felt the same.” 

_“I know what you mean,”_ Kurt said. _“I wish I could tell you that feeling goes away. But It doesn’t. The fear either. You just kinda get used to it.”_

“Yaay,” Dave drawled. 

Kurt sniggered and said; _“So tell me about this family of yours. What’s got you all up in knots?”_

So Dave told him, about the falling out between his dad and uncle, the family attitude that favored “men’s men” (which caused Kurt to giggle and Dave to make increasingly ridiculous innuendos until Kurt made him stop, saying he was going to wake up Finn), and the history of homophobia Dave had seen in his cousin. He mentioned the fact that his uncle was obsessed with his army days, that his cousin was stationed overseas but back on leave, that his aunt’s husband was an army trainer. He mentioned the grumbling about Don’t Ask Don’t Tell, and could just imagine what they would say now that it’s been repealed. He also mentioned that, for the most part, they were just his family, and were pretty okay aside from this. 

_“Family,”_ Kurt sighed. _“Dave, if anything does go bad--call me. I mean it.”_

Dave blinked away tears. Damn allergies, it was too late in the season for his eyes to water. “Thanks. I will.” 

They talked a little bit more after that before Kurt begged off for sleep. Dave was too wired to sleep, and popped _Iron Man 2_ into his DVD player. He fell asleep between Tony Stark discovering a new element and the creation of it in his lab. 

He slept late the next morning, not having to worry about his appointment with Dr. Banks-call-me-George, and woke when the doorbell rang. Dave opened his eyes. 

They were here.


	4. Alice's Restaurant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanksgiving--an anti-massacre movement. Dave's not proud--just tired.

Dave could hear his mother’s voice, high with excitement, drift through the door as she greeted her brother. He should get up, get dressed and go say _hi,_ but he really didn’t want to. Dave wondered if he could pull of a sullen teenager act and hide in his room. His dad would know what he was doing, but he didn’t think Paul would begrudge him this. Dave sighed, swinging his feet over the edge of the bed as he sat up. 

There was a knock on his door. “Yeah?” Dave called out. 

The door cracked open and Paul poked his head in. “Oh good, you’re up. Come on. If I have to make nice, so do you.” 

Dave snorted, running a hand over his hair. He needed a haircut; his curls were starting to grow in, and they caught against his fingers. “Yeah,” he said. “I need pants.” 

“Well, don’t take too long,” Paul said. “I might need you down there.” 

Dave nodded. Once Paul closed the door, Dave stood, dressed in his jeans from yesterday and a clean shirt, and tied on his sneakers. He didn’t usually wear his sneakers around the house, but there was something--he wanted to be as dressed as possible. Just in case. 

The Karofksy house was large, larger than three people really needed, but Dave remembered his mother say to his aunt once, half-drunk on wine and not knowing, or caring, that her young son was listening, that they had bought the house to have room for the children, but, well, God had only given them Davey. Dave hadn’t really understood what that meant until later, but considering the way his parents fought, it was probably for the best. 

Still, that left plenty of room for guests, something Dave and Az had taken advantage of in the past. The front door opened into a high ceilinged foyer (complete with chandelier)that, in turn, opened into an (comparatively small) den to the right. There was a coat closet on the left that took up most of the wall, the door to his father’s office, which was behind the closet, and the entrance to the rest of the ground floor was between the closet and the staircase. The staircase curved along the back wall, giving the impression of a spiral and being altogether more grand than Dave thought they needed. 

The living room/TV room and the kitchen shared the entrance from the foyer, the living room to the right and sharing a wall with Paul’s office. The kitchen was recently refinished in black marble and deep browns, and had an extra island for more counter space. Dave thought it looked like the set for a show on The Food Network, but his mother liked it. Dave preferred his Gram’s kitchen. 

Through the kitchen was the dining room (with a second chandelier) and behind the dining room, sticking out of the back of the house, was a sun room filled with his mother’s plants. At the moment, it was set up like a “French Garden,” like his mother had seen in a Pottery Barn catalogue, and when his mother had friends over, they tended to gather in there. Off the back of the kitchen, braced against the sun room, was a back deck and beyond that the backyard. 

Dave and Az had fit a lot of people in the first floor of his house. 

There were three bedrooms, not including the master bedroom, on the second floor, and one and a half bathrooms. The bedrooms were guest rooms, though one was used more often as his mother’s craft room. At the end of the hall was the staircase to the attic and Dave’s room. 

Dave had started off with a room on the second floor, but as he had grown he had wanted a change. The attic was finished, and was already set up as his playroom. It was easy enough to convince his parents to convert it into his bedroom. Now, Dave was isolated from the rest of his house; he had his privacy. Nobody could come up to his room without stepping on that squeaky third stair, and as an early warning system, it had saved Dave’s secrets more than once. 

As Dave walked down the stairs to the first floor, he heard his mother say from the living room, “And here he is now. Come say ‘hi,’ Davey.” Dave raised an eyebrow, because seriously, what was he, _five?_ He shoved his hands into his pockets, walked around the pile of luggage in the middle of the foyer, and shuffled into the living room. 

His Uncle TJ hadn’t changed much since Dave had seen him last; he was a little shorter than Dave remembered, but still tall and solid in an active way, a lacrosse player to David’s enforcer bulk. His hair was short and dark, with a little more grey than last time. Aunt Anne looked exactly the same, with her blond hair pulled back and up and her makeup picture perfect. 

Tommy was in uniform, having come straight from the airport, and looked the spitting image of his father. Dave was a bit taken aback; last time he had seen Tommy was before he had enlisted, and it looked like the Army had whipped him into shape. He had always been athletic, but now--Dave felt his old admiration creep back, though now it warred with jealousy--Tommy never had to deal with Dave’s weight issues--and a little bit of fear. 

“Shit, Davey,” Tommy said. “You grew.” 

“Of course he grew,” TJ said. “He’s a man now, look at him.” 

Dave smiled, but it felt forced. _I can also hear you, asshole. I’m standing right here._ “Hey,” he said, pulling his hand out of his pocket to give a little wave. Tommy stepped forward, hand out to shake, and Dave took it, feeling a little weird when Tommy braced his other hand on Dave’s elbow, but then TJ did it, too, so at least Dave knew where he got it from. Anne pulled Dave into a hug, and Dave never knew how much he had missed her perfume. He pulled back, standing up straighter, and Anne patted his cheek. 

Maria clapped her hands together once. “Well, who’s hungry? Let’s see about some lunch, shall we?” 

“Sounds like a great idea,” TJ said. He clapped Tommy on the shoulder. “You know how young men can eat.” 

“We sure do,” Maria said, smiling at Dave. He smiled back, but he could see Paul behind them, rolling his eyes. It gave Dave the boost he needed, and he was even able to smile for real when they decided to order pizza. 

“Davey?” his mom said. “Why don’t you and Tommy take the luggage up to the rooms?”

“Sure,” Dave said, and led the way back to the foyer. He grabbed his uncle’s suitcase and what he was pretty sure was his aunt’s makeup case, and Tommy took his own duffel and his mother’s bag. 

“This place hasn’t changed a bit,” Tommy remarked as Dave led the way up the stairs. 

Dave shrugged. “Haven’t really noticed,” _it’s a house, not a toddler._ “But you’re in the same rooms as last time, so...” Dave shrugged again. At the top of the stairs, Dave pointed to the door to the left. “That’s Mom and Dad’s room,” he said. he opened the door next to it, “And this is for your parents.” It was the biggest of the guest bedrooms, the only other room with a king sized bed. Dave put the bags on the bed, and Tommy added the bag he was carrying. Dave nodded towards the door with his head, saying, “And you’re next door,” as he lead Tommy out again. 

This guest room was Dave’s old room, and was still decorated in shades of little boy blue. But it had a queen sized bed, (one that Dave knew had seen some action at the parties, and he never needed to know what Puckerman’s bare ass looked like--appreciated it after the fact, but the Cheerio Puck had been with hadn’t been too happy when Dave had opened the door.), and it would serve.

“You still up in the attic?” Tommy asked, dropping his duffel on the bed. He sat next to it, and nodded his head at the space next to him. Dave nodded, sitting down, and Tommy grinned. “Great privacy for when your girlfriend comes over.” 

Dave laughed. “The privacy’s nice,” he said, ignoring the _girlfriend_ comment. Still, he could admit the privacy was nice when he finally got up the courage to watch the kind of porn he _wanted_ to watch, without worrying that anyone would walk in on him. Dave smirked. As stressful as it could be, Dave couldn’t deny he got a certain satisfaction for knowing something that Tommy didn’t. 

Tommy’s grin turned sly, misinterpreting the smirk. “What’s her name?” 

Dave repressed the urge to roll his eyes. _Here we go._ “Who?” he asked, knowing it looked forced, and knowing that Tommy would assume he had a secret girlfriend, not--whatever it was he had now. A hopeless crush of the gayest boy in town..

“Your girlfriend,” Tommy nudged Dave with his arm, and Dave rocked with the motion. “What’s her name?” 

Dave shook his head. “I don’t have a girlfriend,” he said, but he could see Tommy didn’t believe him. He could probably come out to Tommy right here and now, and Tommy would laugh, thinking it was some kind of practical joke. He'd never thought he’d have _more_ of a problem convincing people he _was_ gay. “Honest.” 

Tommy shook his head, cajoaling. “I’m not your parents, man. You can tell me.” 

“I don’t,” Dave said slowly, enunciating carefully. “Have. A girlfriend.” He paused. He wasn’t sure why he was pushing this hard; Tommy thinking he had a secret girlfriend would let him be secretive and not appear to be in the closet--but Dave had really lost his taste for secrets. If he couldn’t be out, he still wanted to be as honest as possible. What could he say that wasn’t a lie, but-- “She dumped me after prom.” 

Tommy nodded sympathetically, and Dave never thought he’d be grateful for Santana’s paranoia. “Well,” Tommy said. “Now you just get privacy of a different kind.” He winked and Dave snorted and shook his head. _If only you knew._ Dave made a mental note to wipe his browser history. 

Tommy flopped back on the bed. “Wait,” he said, frowning. “After prom. You can’t be in college yet.” 

“It was Junior prom,” Dave said. _Of which I am Prom King, and Kurt Hummel is my Queen._ Yeah, like he was going to tell Tommy _that._ Tommy nodded. 

“She cute?” 

Like Dave knew from cute. But he knew how to play this game. “Yeah,” Dave said. “Smokin’. Head Cheerio. Dudes were all jealous; she wouldn’t give them time of day.” _They weren’t Brittany, after all._

“Nice. And you play football, right?” 

Dave nodded. “Yeah. Linesman. You coming to the game Thursday?” he asked. It was hard to keep the image of Tommy-the-homophobe built up in his head when the real Tommy was right in front of him, acting just like--Tommy. It wasn’t enough to risk it, Dave knew, but it made keeping the secret just a little bit more rough. 

Tommy grinned. “Wouldn’t miss it.” 

Talk turned to sports then; what the Titan’s season had been like, their predictions for the Thanksgiving Day Classic, and Dave’s thoughts on the upcoming Hockey season. They headed downstairs when the doorbell rang, and over pizza, Dave learned that Tommy had served two tours overseas, one in Germany and currently at Camp Victory. When his current tour was over, he was hoping to be either moved back to Germany, or assigned stateside. Uncle TJ had just retired, and he and Anne were getting ready to travel. 

David didn’t say much, and Paul said even less, but they were polite and the atmosphere wasn’t nearly as strained as it could have been. 

After dinner, everyone gathered in the living room to watch Sunday Night Football (well, the guys were watching football. Paul had his favorite easy chair, while Dave, TJ, and Tommy shared the couch. Maria and Anne were catching up on news of his Aunt Julia and the baby), when Dave got a text from Kurt: 

_Let me know if I need to stage an “emergency” to get you out of there._

Dave smiled, and typed back: _lol. thnx. so far so good._

_Remember: there’s pie at the end of this. You just need to make it through. :)_

Dave snorted and sank back into the couch cushions. _i don’t think pie counts as a reward if i make it._

 _Oh, David. Pie is ALWAYS a reward._

He really shouldn’t. Dave bit his lip to try and hold back the grin as he sent, _thats what she said._

_Ew! David! Don’t you dare spoil pie for me. *shudder*_

Dave grinned. _sorry. :(_

He looked up to see Tommy grinning at him. “No girlfriend, huh?” Tommy asked in a whisper. 

Dave flushed and rolled his eyes. “Friend,” Dave whispered back. His phone buzzed in his hands. 

_Liar. :P We still on for the Lima Bean tomorrow?_

_y. gtg. tommy thinks i’m talking to my secret girlfriend._

Tommy tried to lean over to see Dave’s phone screen. Dave tilted the phone away and slumped down farther. 

_Lol! I’m going to set my ringtone in your phone to “Secret Lovers.”_

“Davey.” David looked at his mother. “Put the phone away and spend time with your cousin.” Dave rolled his eyes and stuck his phone in his pocket, ignoring Tommy’s snickers, and was soon engrossed in the game. His phone buzzed in his pocket a few more times, but it was easy to ignore. It wasn’t until Dave escaped upstairs for the night that he was able to check it again. There were 4 missed texts, all from Kurt. 

_Or maybe “Let’s Give Them Something to Talk about.”_

_Dave? Was that too much?_

_Did I say something wrong?_

_I’m sorry._

Dave sat on his bed. _sorry. mom yelled. and if u change mine to bonnie raitt i’ll change urs to garth brooks._

Dave tossed his phone on the bed and stripped out of his jeans, throwing his shirt into his laundry hamper. He turned off his light, crawling into bed. The buzzing phone lit up the room. 

_The Horror! :O_

Dave snorted. _yea. don’t mess._ He lay in bed and watched as the screen dimmed and darkened, and then light up once more. 

_Goodnight, Dave._ Kurt sent. 

_night kurt._

Dave placed his phone on the charger on his nightstand, and went to bed, smiling. 

***

Monday, though it was a full day, had the restless lack of focus that came from being the beginning of a holiday week. Santana was a bit more bitter than usual, overtired from Cheerio practice and short with everyone except Brittany. Az was still ignoring him, though the glocks were good about including him without making a fuss about it. 

In history Mercedes greeted him warmly, asking if he was excited about the holiday. Dave shrugged, and Kurt shot him a commiserating look. Mercedes looked between the two of them. 

“What am I missing?” 

Dave shrugged again. “My family doesn’t know,” he said. “But let’s just say they’ve made their opinions clear.” 

“Oh, Dave, that’s rough,” Mercedes said. Dave nodded, looking down at his desk. 

“There’s a part of me that wishes I was, you know, seeing somebody, so I could, like, rub it in their faces as a giant _fuck you,_ but most of me just wants the holiday to be over,” Dave said. He rubbed the back of his neck and smiled ruefully back up at them. He did not trust the look on Mercedes face at all. “What?” he asked, warily. 

“Nothing,” Mercedes said. “I just happen to know a very gay boy with a love for drama, who might be up to playing the part.” 

“Mercedes, stop,” Kurt protested. Dave noticed his ears were bright red. “While I appreciate a good dramatic scene, and while I love to see homophobes put in their place, it is a) not our place and b) too much can go wrong too quickly.” Dave nodded along with Kurt’s words. If there was one thing being around the glee club had taught him, was that there was very little they wouldn’t add drama too. It was a relief that Kurt was insisting on taking a more conservative approach to Dave’s life. “However,” Kurt said, grinning, “I’d pay good money to see that.” 

Dave snorted, and Mrs. Finch clapped her hands. for this week, as a followup to the Homeric epics of the week before, they were going to look at storytelling through song. More specifically, singer-songwriters. Dave raised an eyebrow, and had to bite his cheek to stop from laughing when she queued up _The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald,_ and Kurt groaned and dropped his head to his desk. 

Luckily, Az’s ignoring him only extended to socializing, and while he didn’t go out of his way to avoid Dave at practice, he didn’t seek him out either. In a way, that was worse. It was like they had never been friends in the first place. Dave swallowed down the hurt, and wondered what was so wrong with him that his best friend would rather erase years of friendship than talk to him. 

Dave found himself lingering after practice. He knew his mother wanted him home to spend time with his family, but while they weren’t nearly as bad as Dave had feared, he was still reluctant to spend time with them. He didn’t _know_ them anymore, and they sure as hell didn’t know _him._ Conversation with his aunt and uncle was just plain awkward, and talking to Tommy was like talking to someone about a memory and realizing they remembered it completely differently. 

Dave’s house was full of strangers, and he had run out of excuses. He was pretty sure he would have to cancel on Kurt, too. _Damnit._

He stood, pulled on his letterman, and grabbed his backpack. He was almost to the door when Finn burst through, nearly taking Dave out. “Oh, good.” Finn said. “I found you. I saw your truck was still here, and figured I’d give it a shot.” 

“Give what a shot?” Dave asked, adjusting his backpack. 

“You wanna come over?” Finn asked. “Mom said she was making lasagna, and she always makes too much. I got the new _Call of Duty._ Or we can play _Mario Kart_ and lose horribly to Kurt.” Dave laughed and Finn shook his head, face very serious. “I mean it, man. Kurt’s a ringer.” 

“Doesn’t surprise me,” Dave said. He hesitated. “I want to,” Dave said. “But I got family in town, and my mom...” He trailed off. 

“I know,” Finn said. “Kurt said to tell her you had a project for school or something, and you wanted to ‘get it done before the holiday to be able to enjoy the time with your family.’” Dave smiled. Finn had totally been quoting. 

“Are you inviting me, or is Kurt.” Dave asked, eyebrow raised. 

“I am,” Finn said, “Kurt’s not here.” He blinked, and looked around, as if double checking. “I mean, he said you might want an excuse to get out of the house, but the video games are totally my idea.” 

Dave didn’t even bother to fight the smile. He nodded to the door and said. “Come on. Let me call my dad.” 

Paul had no problems giving Dave permission to hang out at the Hudmel house, and agreed to pass on the “working on a project” cover to Maria, though he did say he wished he could join them. Dave was pretty sure he was only mostly joking. However, Dave _was_ to try and be home before curfew to spend some time with everyone. 

Nobody was surprised to see Dave pull up behind Finn, and it made Dave wonder just how much Kurt had told people. Carole greeted him as warmly as she ever had, and Kurt smiled at him from the kitchen table, as if they had planned to meet here all along. Carole made Finn follow her out to the garage to get down the crockpot, and Dave sat across from Kurt. 

“You are sneaky,” Dave said. Kurt affected a look of wide-eyed innocence. “Yeah, you,” Dave said. “How’d you know?” 

Kurt shrugged, dropping the look. “Call it a hunch.” Kurt reached out and grabbed Dave’s hand. “Dave, you have come a long way; your closet’s pretty much a thing of the past, but you’re still in transition, and are keeping it quiet for a reason. I? am pretty much the opposite of quiet. Being seen in public with me will raise questions that you might not be ready to answer.” 

“We’ve been in public together before,” Dave said, slightly irked that Kurt was _presuming_ to dictate when _Dave_ was ready, and more, that the assumption that _Kurt_ was a _problem_ in and of himself. 

“Oh, and now you’re getting pissed,” Kurt said, pulling away and sitting back. “That’s your _pissed_ face.” 

“Damn right, I’m getting pissed,” Dave said. “I--Kurt. Why do you keep acting like--You’re my friend. I’m not ashamed to be seen with you in public. _I’m not that guy anymore._ ” And there it was, out of Dave’s mouth before he really thought about it, and _that’s_ why he was pissed. Because it felt like Kurt was reacting to who he _used_ to be, and not who he _was._

Kurt looked away. “I know you’re not,” he said, softly. “But--I have no illusions about myself, Dave. I’m high maintenance, and I dress _out there,_ and my voice can be used to call _dogs_ and--”

“Woah, woah!” Dave said, holding his hands up. “Where is this coming from? You’re _Kurt Freakin Hummel._ What happened to _owning_ it?” 

Kurt shrugged. “I’m a performer, Dave. We have our highs and out lows.” 

Dave pointed at Kurt. “That’s bullcrap.” Kurt flushed and looked away. Dave opened his mouth to push, but Finn came back in, face hidden by the stack of boxes in his hands, and Carole came in right behind him. 

“Thank you, Finn,” Carole said, as he put the boxes on the counter. “Dinner’ll be ready in a few. Would you help set the table?” Finn nodded, and Kurt jumped up to help. Dave pulled back, awkward and not quite knowing what to do. 

“Uh,” he said, and Carole smiled at him. 

“Dave, why don’t you go put your bag up in Finn’s room. Kurt?” Carole prompted, and Kurt put the plates he was holding on the table, and gestured for Dave to follow. Dave nodded, and grabbed Finn’s bag on the way up the stairs. Kurt didn’t say anything until after Dave had put the bags on Finn’s bed. 

Kurt stayed in the hallway, arms crossed over her chest. “It has to be a mom-thing,” he said. “Or maybe just a Carole thing.” 

Dave raised an eyebrow and waited, not giving an inch. Kurt sighed. “It’s possible that you are not the only person with self-esteem issues,” Kurt said. “I try to act like I’m on top, and most days I feel that way. But some days are just bravado and a good structured jacket.” 

“Or a Letterman,” Dave said, indicating his own sleeve. Kurt smiled, but it was still a little sad, a little unsure. Dave bounced once on his heels and said; “You know, it’s funny. I went from being terrified of anybody finding out about me, to not knowing how to deal when I _couldn't_ tell everybody, and I’m not quite sure when the switch happened, but I know it’s thanks to you. So--you don’t need to feel like that with me, okay? I’m proud to be your friend, and it’s only partly because you’re helping me be proud of who _I_ am.” Dave paused. “That make sense?” 

Kurt nodded with a little laugh. “Yes, it makes sense.” He pause. “Thank you, Dave.” 

Dave shrugged. “Nothing but the truth.” 

“Still,” Kurt said. They both paused when they heard the garage door open. “And that’s Dad. Come on, let’s go eat.” 

Dave’s stomach growled, and he flushed. “Good plan,” he said, and followed Kurt back downstairs. 

Burt greeted Dave with a nod, and “David,” that managed to say both, _good to see you, kid,_ and _Kurt told me everything_ at the same time. It was heartening that Burt had meant what he said when he gave Dave a second chance, but he didn't’ think Burt would ever _not_ scare him a little. 

Still, conversation over dinner seemed to revolve around what they did at work that day (Burt and Carole), what the Titans were looking at for Thursday (Burt, Finn, and Dave), what Glee was planning for Sectionals (Finn and Kurt), and how they were doing in school, (Finn, Kurt, and Dave). After dinner, Carole waved them off cleaning duty, which made Burt frown, but Dave was pulled along in the wake of Finn’s exuberance, and he soon found himself trying to keep up as Kurt proceeded to trounce both Finn and Dave soundly. After their second horrible defeat, Dave stopped trying to compete with Kurt, and focused on beating Finn. There didn’t seem to be any lingering tension between him and Kurt earlier, and it was a relief to know that they could have moments like that and not lose their comfort level. 

Dave put down his controller around 10 o’clock. “I should head home,” Dave said. “If anyone asks, it was for a oral presentation in history.”

“Dude, those suck,” Finn said. 

Dave bit his lip, unsure if Finn was fucking with him. By the way Kurt was shaking his head, Finn hadn’t even realized. “I’ll walk you down,” Kurt said. Dave grabbed his bag, and led the way down the stairs this time. Kurt followed him out to his truck. 

“Thanks for this,” Dave said. “This might be the last chance I get to see people who aren’t family until next week.” 

Kurt nodded. “I can’t imagine,” he said. “Well, I can, but I really don’t like to. If I didn’t have Dad’s support...” he trailed off. 

“I have Dad,” Dave said. “Speaking of--”

“Dad said he could call,” Kurt said. “If he needs to.” Dave nodded, and threw his bag in the cab of the truck. 

“I don’t want to,” Dave said, hesitating in the door. 

“I know,” Kurt said. “It’ll be over soon?” he offered. Dave nodded and climbed into his truck. 

When Dave got home, his mother frowned at him, but refrained from saying anything in front of their guests. Dave joined them in the living room for about an hour before Anne and TJ went to bed. Maria followed them up, and Paul poked his head out of his office when Tommy went to find a bathroom. Paul joined Dave on the couch. 

“You have fun?” Paul asked, quietly. 

“Yeah,” Dave said. “Thanks.” Paul shrugged. “Uh, Kurt talked to his dad,” Dave said. “He said you could call him if you need--stuff.” Dave gestured vaguely, trying to imply, _talk to him about your gay sons,_ without really saying it. He wasn’t quite sure what Paul got from the gesture, but Paul coughed, flustered. 

“Thanks,” Paul said. “I’ll probably take him up on that after the holiday.” Dave nodded. He never realized before just _how much stuff_ could get disrupted by holidays. He wondered if that meant he was growing up. 

“Well,” Paul said, slapping Dave’s knee as he stood. “I’m going to head to bed. Goodnight, Dave, Tommy.” Dave looked up to see his cousin coming back from the bathroom. 

“Night, Dad,” Dave said, and Paul disappeared up the stairs. Tommy dropped onto the couch next to Dave. 

“School project?” Tommy asked. 

“History. Oral presentations.” Dave said. If he sounded bored with it, maybe there wouldn’t be too many questions. 

Tommy made a face. “Ew,” he said. “I do not miss school.” He grabbed the remote and flipped through the channels until he found _The Blue Collar Comedy Tour_ playing on Comedy Central. Dave lasted until the end of Ron White’s set before he made his excuses and went to bed, too rattled by his day to take the awkwardness, even though he knew it was all on his part. 

Two days down. Five to go. 

***

GSA was a wash; there was only a half-day between them and Thanksgiving, and nobody wanted to debate or discuss anything. So, the meeting turned into an impromptu party, and Dave couldn’t help thinking that, as helpful as the discussions and projects were, _this_ was what he wanted from the club: a place to just _be,_ with people who knew his secrets and didn’t care. 

Dave had made _kolaczki,_ flaky cookies filled with apricot, walnut, and raspberry, (mostly because Dave thought the more traditional pune wouldn’t go over well, even though they were Dave’s personal favorite), and they were already mostly gone. He bit into another cookie, catching the flakes in his hand, and ignored the way Santana shook her head at him. 

“You’re a pig,” she said. “He’s never going to date you if you keep eating like that.” 

“There are other, better reasons for him not to date me,” Dave said around his cookie. He swallowed. “I kinda think I really fucked that one up, Lopez. He’s never going to like me _that_ way.” 

Santana raised her eyebrow at him. “That’s defeatist.” 

“That’s realistic,” Dave said. “Besides, I’m not his type.” When Santana didn’t say anything, Dave looked over at her, to find her laughing at him. “What?” he asked, sighing. 

But Santana just shook her head. “Boys,” she said. 

“What?” he protested. “Tell me! What?” 

“Tell you what?” Kurt asked, appearing behind Dave. Dave, to his credit, did not jump, but it was a close thing. 

“Hey, Kurt,” Dave said tilting his head back to look at Kurt upside down. Kurt smiled at him. Or maybe frowned. It was hard to tell from upside-down. 

“Dave,” Kurt said. He sounded like he was laughing. Definitely smiling, then. “Is Santana picking on you,” he teased. 

“Horribly,” Dave said. “She’s a meanie.” 

“Good God,” Santana groaned. “I think I threw up in my mouth a little.” She stood. “Later, losers,” she said, and stalked off to wrap herself around Brittany. Kurt sat next to Dave with a sigh. 

“She seems happier,” Kurt said, “for a given value of ‘happy’ for Santana. Her ire seems more baseline bitch and less ‘angry at the world.’” 

Dave nodded. “Pressure release can do wonders for one’s mood,” he said, and smiled at Kurt’s ruefully acknowledgement. 

“I remember,” Kurt said. “The relief was giddying.” 

Dave nodded, and paused, thinking. After yesterday he was more confident that he could actually, you know, disagree with Kurt and not ruin what they had built, but it would take some time before he would be at ease with it. “I think,” he said as delicately as he knew how, “It’s different for us. San and I. I mean,” he sighed. “what scared you more, being gay, or having people judge you for being gay.” 

“People have always judged me for being gay,” Kurt said with a pointed look. “Even before I came out.” 

“But it was different, right?” Dave insisted. He turned in his chair to face Kurt more fully. “You fought against that judgement differently, afterwards, but the actual _being gay_ part, at least being okay with it yourself, _that_ came easy, right?” 

“Easier, yes,” Kurt said, obviously a bit put out but willing to hear Dave’s reasoning. “I wouldn’t say easy,’” he added, almost under his breath. 

“Well,” Dave said, “For Santana and I, the hardest part _isn’t_ dealing with other people. I mean, Santana only cares what other people think of her insofar as it suits her needs. Once she’s out, she’s going to be as in-your-face about it as with everything about her, and I--well--it took me so long to accept myself even though I pretty much _knew_ people who would be okay with it--I’m a work in progress.” Dave grinned. Kurt squeezed Dave’s arm, right over his bicep.

“You’re doing a great job,” Kurt said. 

Dave shrugged. “The more people who are okay with it, the more okay I am with it.” Dave looked away. “I don’t think I’m ever _not_ going to care what people think. A part of me will always take it personally.” Dave picked up another cookie. “All the more reason to get out of Lima, right?” 

“Preach,” Kurt said, and stole one of Dave’s cookies. And Dave let him, because Santana was right; Boys _are_ stupid. 

***

Dave came home to an apparently empty house. His dad wasn’t home from work yet, and his mom had left a note on the kitchen table that she had taken TJ and Anne out for the afternoon, but that they’d be home in time to go out to _Breadstix_ for dinner. _Great..._

But there was no mention of Tommy. He wasn’t in the living room, or the sun room. Dave hadn’t passed him in the den, and when he walked up stairs, he didn’t see Tommy in the guest room, either. _Maybe he went out,_ Dave thought, but when he looked at the stairs, he felt a sinking feeling in his stomach, and was pretty certain Tommy _hadn’t_ gone out. 

Sure enough, when Dave climbed the stairs and opened the door to his room, Tommy was sitting on his bed, leafing through his junior year yearbook. 

Dave dropped his back by the door. “Hey, Tommy,” he said, his voice sounding distant to his ears. “What’re you doing?” 

“Looking through your yearbook,” he said. “Come point out your girlfriend.” 

Rolling his eyes, Dave sat next to Tommy. How long had Tommy been in his room? What else had he looked at? Had he snooped on Dave’s computer? Thank God Dave had wiped his browser history the other day. Had he been in the closet? Had he seen the crown? 

Dave took the book from Tommy, and flipped to the pages of Juniors. He pointed out Santana’s picture. “Santana Lopez,” he said. He flipped a couple more pages to get to “clubs” and pointed out the Bullywhips picture. Dave remembered getting the picture taken; the photographer had made them stand back to back in their matching satin jackets and berets, and had them both glare at the camera. Dave also remembered finding it very easy to glare at the douchebag taking the picture. “That’s us.” 

Tommy looked at the picture. “What’s a Bullywhip?” he asked. 

“It’s was her idea,” Dave said. “A platform to run for Prom Queen.” He hesitated. “How much do you know about what happened last year?” 

Tommy shook his head. Dave closed his eyes. “I had a lot of issues last year, Tommy,” Dave continued. “Uh--anger management. And, well, I was temporarily expelled for bullying. Once I was back in, Santana set us up as extra protection in the hallways, kind of a ‘look at how I reformed the bully,’ thing, so people would vote for her.” Dave shrugged. “We did a lot of good. Set a real example.” 

“Yeah,” Tommy said. “Your Aunt Maria mentioned that you’ve been doing some club stuff, like a community service type of deal.” 

Dave felt a muscle twitch in his jaw and forced himself to stop clenching his teeth. “The Bullywhips was, and I had to give a public apology. But the GSA? That’s something I want to do.” Dave stood, taking the yearbook with him and putting it back on his shelf. 

“The what?” Tommy said. Dave turned. Tommy had stood as well and--how had he never noticed how much taller Tommy was? 

“GSA. The Gay-Straight Alliance,” Dave said, sitting down at his desk and opening his computer. He opened the browser and checked the “recently closed” list. It only showed his history from last night. Still, he felt fluttery, nervous. 

He looked up at Tommy, but his cousin’s face was unreadable. “Why would you want to do that?” Tommy asked. 

Dave bit his lip, looked away. “Part of my return was learning about what happens to bullied kids. Gay kids have it the worst. The kid I bullied? Is gay. When he suggested it,” Dave shrugged. “I dunno. It seems like a good idea.” Dave forced himself to smirk. “It’s gonna look great on my transcripts.” 

“So would, like, Mathleets, man. Doesn’t mean you should join.” Tommy shifted. “Aren’t you worried about what people will think?” 

Dave shrugged. So what if they thought he was gay. He was. He was gay, and he was learning to own it, and _fuck him,_ for his homophobic preconceptions and little-minded bullshit. Dave could have left his response to a shrug, could have made up some line about doing it so the “chicks” would think he’s more sensitive, but Dave was scared and tired and tired of being scared and it made him angry and his anger always made him reckless. “Not really, I mean. Most of the club is straight kids.” 

“I dunno man,” Tommy said. “You couldn’t get me near that homo crap. What if one of ‘em came onto me?” Tommy shuddered. “No thanks.” 

“Well, that hasn’t been problem,” Dave said, closing his computer. “Come on. I think there’s a game on we can watch until everyone gets home.” He stood held a hand out to the door, so Tommy would go first. Tommy looked at Dave for a long, tense moment before nodding, and leaving the room. 

Dave let himself slump for a moment, breathing out a heavy sigh of relief, before she squared his shoulders and followed Tommy downstairs. _That was close._

***

Dinner was tense, or at least, Dave was on edge. He wasn’t sure he could trust his judgement on this. Tommy seemed quieter than he had been, less inclined to offer his opinion, and whenever Dave looked at him, Tommy was staring. Paul noticed, Dave was sure, because he kept looking between the two of them like he was waiting for something to happen. 

Maria was oblivious, chatting with Anne, and laughing at TJ’s jokes, but it still felt like something had shifted, that he had exposed a critical thread, and if Tommy pulled, everything would unravel. 

The feeling continued for the rest of the night, though dessert and after-dinner drinks. After they got home, Dave escaped to his room. He looked around, searched with shaking hands, but nothing private seemed touched. Dave had never been more happy that he didn’t keep porn around, that years of secrecy and suppression meant there were no tangible clues to his sexualtiy. He sat on his bed, head bent, and breathed deeply until the tension eased and the tremors stopped. 

His hands curled into fists. He wanted, _needed,_ to hit something, to scream, to let it out and there was nothing he could do. It hadn’t been this bad in a long time, and the ferocity of it took Dave by surprise, shortening his breath, and he gasped. 

The pressure had to be released somehow; he had gotten too used to being open--the valve had stuck and the more open he was, the more there was to be open about and he was leaking at the seams, but it was more than that--where his closet once resembled a panic bunker, it was now a ruin, made of rotting planks and more open air than not--there was no shelter, anymore, and he wanted _out._

He never thought it would be the waiting that would kill him. 

Dave groaned and flopped back into his bed. He felt fevered, restless, the anger fading, leaving a tightness under his skin that was familiar-- _very_ familiar--as it had run as undercurrent for years, always there, simmering and spiking at the wrong--no, at _different_ times--and what once had left him confused and hurting not just left him--horny. 

Dave looked at his door. He didn’t usually lock it, his parents came upstairs so rarely, but--Dave rolled off the bed and locked the door. His hands were shaking again, nerves and arousal mixing and Dave felt almost lightheaded. It had been, fuck, _days,_ he’d been so wound up with worry and stressed that he hadn’t even _noticed_ and he was so hard it _hurt_ and--

He didn’t even make it back to the bed. Dave leaned against the door, opening his pants and letting them drop with a groan of relief. It wouldn’t take long, Dave could tell, he was too far worked up. He closed his eyes, and images flashed; seconds of clips from porn he had seen; a Calvin Klein underwear ad; Kurt’s ass in _those pants,_ his lips as they wrapped around a soda straw, the curve of his neck in open collar shirts--

Dave came with a grunt and his knees almost buckled. He slid down the door, feeling static buzzing in his limbs. His heart and breathing slowed. The restless feeling was gone. And he had just jerked off to Kurt Hummel. 

He let his head fall back until it hit the door. _Fuck._

***

Maria caught Dave before he left for school the next day. He was to come straight home and spend time with his family. He hadn’t seen them in years and it was bad enough that he had to go to school. Dave nodded and left, and spent the day dreading what was to come. At least Thursday had the game and the food and the _other_ game to distract them. 

It wasn’t bad as Dave feared. Where Dave had expected to spend the afternoon and evening on constant alert, he found himself relaxing for long stretches while his family was just his family. Then something would happen, a remark or a look, and a tension that Dave was sure he wasn’t the only one to feel would spread through the house. Paul, who hadn’t escaped Maria’s ire, would Dave concerned looks whenever he caught something that he knew would trigger Dave; Paul still miss a good half of them. Dave tried to ignore it, the best way to avoid the problem was to avoid admitting there was a problem, but it didn’t make those moments any better to bear. 

The best part was when his mom sent him to the store because she had forgotten to buy cranberry sauce, and it took Dave almost two hours to find one can. Because, as horrible as that kind of shopping is, it got him out of the house. 

Dave went to bed early, due to the 8 am call the next morning. The game would start at ten, and end sometime between noon and 1. Dinner was at 3, and they were hosting TJ, Anna, and Tommy; Helen, Paul’s sister; Maria’s younger sister Julia, her husband Cliff, and their baby, Heather; and Gram and Papa. Then, everyone except Gram and Papa were staying until Saturday. At least, with that many people in the house, it would take _some_ of the pressure to interact with everyone off of Dave, and it would be easier for him to blend into the background. 

Thursday morning broke bright and cold, and Dave was up and out of the house without seeing anyone but Paul. He was the first one to the locker room, and already half-dressed by the time Finn showed up. The other glocks followed him in; they must have car-pooled or something, and greated Dave as they came in. 

Az came in a few minutes after them. He never even looked Dave’s way. 

The Titans took the field to roaring cheers, and Dave searched the stands. He caught sight of his dad waving, and waved back, seeing his mom, TJ, Anne, and Tommy next to her. In front of them his Aunt Helen sat with baby Heather on her knee, while Julia fretted next to her. Cliff was in front of Tommy, and looked back every once in a while to say something. Gram and Papa weren’t there but, what with Gram’s hip, Dave wasn’t surprised. What was surprising was seeing Burt and Carole Hummel sitting next to Paul. Kurt wasn’t with them, and Dave could only think that was a good thing, for both their sakes, and it didn’t take long to see him sitting with Mercedes and the rest of the GSA that wasn't on the field. 

Dave’s eyes drifted back to Paul and Burt. They were talking, and seemed to be getting along well, from the way they were laughing. Which was good. Real good. Almost scary good. 

A whistle blew, and Dave snapped to attention, but it was Coach Sylvester calling the cheerios to order. Santana winked at him as they trotted past and he waved. Then Coach Beiste blew her whistle and there was nothing but the game. 

Halftime came faster than Dave had expected, and when the timer buzzed, the Titans were up fourteen points. The locker room was rowdy, high energy. Beiste came in, gave them a speech about not getting too cocky, the game wasn’t won yet, but even she was wound tight with excitement. 

They charged the field after halftime, ready to dominate, and they did. Everything worked. Every yard taken was it’s own victory. Carmel High fought bravely, but they were no match for the McKinley Titans. The final buzzer sounded 21 to 7. 

Dave was swept up in a wave of celebration, pulled into a team pile; at one point he found himself hugging Evans while Puckerman tried to jump on his back. Finn was there, and Chang, and even Az clapped Dave on the shoulder, but when Dave turned, he was gone. 

Chang led the way to the locker room, bustin’ a move, and Puckerman joined in, grinding the air. Evans was next, and by the time Finn started his awkward too-tall shuffle, even Dave was grooving back to the locker room. 

They tumbled out into the afternoon sun in a press of leather and letterman felt, and were hit with a wave of friends and family. Santana found Dave first, just out of the locker room, jumping into his arms and he spun her around. “Longest undefeated streak yet!” she cried in his ear. 

Dave laughed, putting her down. Brittany was hot on Santana’s heels, and Dave ended up walking out to the parking lot with them on either arm. Puckerman was at the gate to the field, smirking at him (at least, until Lauren grabbed him from behind and lifted him in a bear hug), and Dave rolled his eyes. Kurt was there, pulling back from hugging Finn so Rachel could attach herself like a limpet to his side. Brittany and Santana pulled away to see Quinn, and Kurt saw Dave and smiled and then Dave had an armful of Kurt. 

Kurt grabbed him tight. “That was amazing! You’re amazing!” Kurt said, speaking into the same ear as Santana, but Santana’s voice didn’t make him shiver, and the feel of her breath didn’t make him hot and cold all over. 

“Thanks,” he said, and squeezed tightly, just once, because really, he would never get enough of Kurt hugs. It wasn’t until Dave was already letting him go that he saw Tommy watching him. The rest of the family was behind him, still searching him out of the crowd, but Tommy had seen. 

There was nothing to see. They were just friends, and Kurt had already moved on to Puckerman, daring Lauren to lift them both. Dave hadn’t _done_ anything. But as Dave raised his hand, calling out to his Dad to lead them over, he knew the pieces were starting to fall. 

Burt and Carole came over with Dave’s family, and after Dave had his hand shaken by Tj, had been hugged by Anne and Julia, bro-hugged Cliff and coo’d over the baby, Burt and Carole came over, with Rachel, Finn, Kurt and Mercedes behind them. Carole hugged Dave, congratulating him on the game, and Burt clapped him on the shoulder. 

“Good game, son,” he said. 

“Thanks, Mr. H,” Dave said, and Burt nodded. 

“Paul,” Burt said, and shook Paul’s hand. “Monday?” 

“I’ll be there,” Paul said, and they Hudmels (plus Mercedes and Rachel) walked away. As they walked, Burt put his arm over Kurt’s shoulder. Dave saw Tommy’s face twitch out of the corner of his eye as Paul said that he was taking his car over to Hummel’s shop to get looked at, then grab a few beers. Maria nodded, smiling, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Even TJ was looking more serious than Dave had seen since Sunday. But then Heather cried, and everyone headed back to their cars. 

Dave sat in his truck for a long moment before he started it. When David turned up the radio, Leonard Cohen started singing that he was waiting for a miracle, and Dave snorted. 

“You and me, both,” Dave muttered, and drove home. 

***

Once home, Dave stored his gear upstairs and changed out of his tee shirt into a green button down. When he was little, he remembered Thanksgiving, Christmas and Easter as fancy dress days, where his mom would stuff him into suits of scratchy fabric that were too tight or too short with shoes that pinch. Papa had taken pity on Dave after his fifteenth birthday, outfitting him with a suit of dark grey in decent wool, with plenty of space to let out in the leg and waist. After his last growth spurt, the one that had give Dave his current height and breadth, Papa had fitted Dave for three suits, one in black wool, one in heavy grey wool, and one in tan linen. The day had ended with ties and new shoes, and trio of hats, one for each suit. 

“People respect a well-dressed man,” Papa had said. “You are a man now; you should have these.” 

The suits had hung in Dave’s closet, pulled out for his maternal grandmother’s funeral, for Julia’s wedding, for various church events to which Maria had dragged Dave, (he would have worn one to Prom, but Santana had insisted on renting him a suit, not believing that he had one that would work. He hoped Papa never saw the pictures), as by the time Dave had suits that fit, and fit well, the holidays had relaxed to the point where Dave could get away with clean jeans and a collared shirt. 

Dave trotted down the stairs, aiming for where he could hear Heather fussing. In the living room, Cliff was setting up a portable playpen while Julia bounced the 8 month old on her hip. Dave came up beside her, kissing Julia’s cheek. “Hey, Aunt Julie.” Dave made a face at the baby. “Heather-feather,” he said, mock serious, “What ants have you got in your pants? You’re a baby. You got nothing to fuss about,” 

Heather focused on Dave, fussing quieting as she stared, rapt. 

“You want to take her?” Julia asked, hopeful. 

“Sure,” Dave said, and held out his hands. Julia passed Heather over; Heather stayed quiet for the move, her only reaction to reach up and try to grab Dave’s nose. Dave smiled and tried to “bite” her hand. Heather giggled, and Julia sighed with relief. 

“Thank God,” she said. “I need a drink. Will you be okay with her?” 

“Yeah,” Dave said, and smiled at Julia. “We’re cool. Right, Heather-feather?” Dave asked, and Heather squealed. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Julia said, and escaped to the kitchen. Dave bounced Heather and sat on the couch to stand Heather on his knees. She grabbed his fingers, and it would always surprise him just how strong she was, and they watched Cliff struggle with the playpen. 

Heather looked around the room, wobbling slightly, but still mostly balanced, and Dave was content to just watch her look. Cliff looked up. 

“How you been, Dave?” Cliff asked. 

“Better,” Dave said, honestly. Cliff had been posted to Camp Perry as a trainer nearly a year previous. Because of Julia’s pregnancy and Heather’s colic, they had spent a lot of time at each other’s houses. Dave liked Cliff; he had grown up in Northern New York, and approached life with a type of practical zen that served him well. He had also calmed Julia down; Dave never really knew different, he was too young to remember what Julia had been like, but apparently Julia had been very high strung before Cliff. 

Still, the last time he had seen Cliff, Dave had been in the middle of the worst of his bullying, and therefore the worst of his confusion and anger, and Dave was sorry to say he hadn’t made a great impression the last time. 

Cliff didn’t press for information, just nodded like he had already known what Dave was going to say. They didn’t say anything else, as Cliff focused on the playpen and Dave focused on Heather. Dave could hear TJ and Tommy talking in the kitchen and Anna, Maria, and Julia laughing over wine, (okay, so Dave couldn’t hear the wine, but he knew his mom drank wine socially and he was allowed to have intuitive leaps). 

“Where’s Dad and Aunt Helen?” Dave asked. 

“They went to get your grandparents,” Cliff said, standing and dusting his hands off on his pants. “Apparently they had some kind of car trouble this morning, and instead of risking them on the roads on Thanksgiving, your Dad went to get them, and you Aunt Helen when with him.” 

Dave nodded. He was a little concerned that his one ally wasn’t there, but he would be soon, and he would be bringing Gram and Papa, and let’s face it, they were awesome _and_ on his side, and it was rare that the majority of the people in a room were on his side, and he would take every advantage he could get. 

Cliff sat on the couch next to Dave with a groan, and Dave turned Heather so she could see her Daddy. Cliff’s face broke into a wide grin, so different from his usual good natured placidity, as he played with his daughter. 

Julia drifted back in with a glass of wine, and sat next to Dave on the couch. It was nice, the quiet domesticity, and Dave was going to miss this when he went to college. Dave wasn’t quite sure where he was going yet, but his applications were all for out of state schools; he was not staying in Ohio. It just wasn’t worth it. 

Paul and Helen were back by 2, and Gram and Papa, and Gram’s pies, were welcomed in with open arms. Gram was especially enamored with Heather, who had developed a baby’s sixth sense for grandparents. Dave handed her over with an exaggerated sigh, and Papa reach up to muss Dave’s hair. Papa had never gotten the memo about the more relaxed dinners, and looked quite dashing in his vested suit. He handed Dave his hat, and pulled Dave aside. 

“You dad told me you told him,” he said, quietly. “Good for you, Dave.” 

Dave smiled, a little ruefully. “Thanks, Papa,” he said. Papa nodded, and grinned sly. 

“So you got a boyfriend, yet?” 

“Papa!” Dave protested, the back of his neck flushing red, but he was laughing, too. He shook his head. “We’re not talking about this, you’re going to get me in trouble.” 

Papa waved his hand, dismissing Dave’s protest with a tsk. “If they can’t handle it, it’s their problem, not yours,” he said. But he winked, and said no more on it. Dave ended up in the kitchen, talking with Cliff as he fed Heather, and even took her upstairs, singing softly to her as he put her down for a nap. Yeah, Dave was going to miss her. 

Dinner was ready by three; there were mashed potatoes, green bean casserole, candied yams, stuffing from in and out of the turkey, creamed pearl onions, pickles and olives, coleslaw, cranberry sauce, three types of roles, and the biggest turkey Dave had ever seen. Maria insisted on saying grace, thanking the Lord for the the food and lost family and Dave was so hungry he tuned her out, staring at the perfectly golden skin of the bird, tuning back in only when she said, “Amen,” and that drumstick was _his._

There was a general jockeying for dishes--pass this to the left, can someone pass me the gravy, don’t hog the potatoes!--then only the sounds of forks on plates as everyone dug in. The silence didn’t last, and after a few minutes, the initial press for food eased and conversation started again. Dave was in between Helen and Cliff, with his father at the head of the table to his left, Gram and Papa to the left of _him,_ and his mother at the foot to Dave’s right. TJ, Tommy, and Anne were across the table, Tommy right across from Dave. 

Dave was reaching for seconds on the sausage stuffing when it started. 

“So Cliff,” TJ said. Dave almost didn’t hear him, he was listening to the story Aunt Helen was telling about her dog’s prized show poodle. But there was something in TJ’s voice that put Dave on edge. “I haven’t talked to you since it happened. What’s your opinion on this new policy the President’s implemented?” 

“What new policy?” Cliff asked, calmly spooning turnips onto his plate. 

“You know,” TJ said. “The one letting queers into the military.” His words fell into one of those silences that happen in large groups, where everyone seems to pause for breath at once. Planned or not, TJ now had everyone’s attention. “What do you think?”

“I think that it’s not appropriate dinner conversation,” Cliff said. Dave didn’t look up from his plate. Please, please, let this put him off. 

“Come on,” TJ pressed. _No such luck._ “It’s just talk. You must have an opinion.” 

“I do,” Cliff said. “And my opinion is that I don’t discuss such issues at the dinner table.” There was a note of finality in his voice, and Dave let himself relax. 

“I agree,” Paul said. “There’s no--”

“Well I think it’s a terrible idea,” Tommy said, cutting Paul off. “When you’re out in the field, you gotta rely on your men one hundred percent; I can’t rely on someone whose thinking they wanna fuck my ass.” Dave felt cold, his appetite gone. He carefully put his silverware down, and put his hands in his lap. “It ain’t right.” 

“Tommy!” Anna snapped, “That’s not appropriate language for the table. It’s _Thanksgiving!_ ” 

“It’s all right, dear,” TJ said. 

“No it isn’t,” Paul said. 

TJ ignored him. “Tommy makes a fair point. An army has to work as a unit, and how can the men fight if they’re constantly worried about--heh-- _friendly fire._ ” Dave closed his eyes. This was it, this was the moment he had been dreading all week. And it was so--so _stupid!_ So very cliche. So much so that TJ didn’t sound like a real person anymore, at least, not the TJ that Dave knew. 

Dave opened his eyes and saw his mother nodding along. Oh God, she _agreed_ with him. The cold in Dave’s chest grew hot, and his hands clenched into fists. 

“I really don’t think--” Gram said, but there was no stopping TJ. 

“How they could let in those _perverts--_ ”

“Right,” Dave snapped. “Because all gay men are sex-crazed perverts. Look out! Better cover your ass! _We’re coming for you next._ ” The table went silent. “I hate to break it to you, Tommy,” Dave said. “But odds are good you served with at least one gay man, and you can be sure he _wasn’t lusting after your ugly ass._ Bigotry is a major turn-off, you know. And, Oh no,” Dave turned to TJ, “Now the military can stop kicking out soldiers they trained for something that has no bearing on how they fire a gun. And now those previously closeted soldiers don’t have to deal with the added pressures of being persecuted on top of, you know, _war._ Surely, civilization will fall.” Dave picked up his fork and stabbed a yam. There was still silence. Dave looked around. _“What?”_

_“We?”_ TJ asked, quietly. 

The blood rushed from Dave’s face so fast he felt dizzy, but he met his uncle’s eyes and nodded. “Yeah,” he said, quietly defiant. “We.” 

“Davey,” Maria said, breathless. “What are you saying.” 

Dave looked at his mom. She looked back with wide eyes, silently pleading. Dave swallowed, but his voice still broke in the middle. “I’m saying I’m gay.” 

Maria shook her head. She looked devastated. “No, baby, that’s not funny.” 

“I’m not joking,” Dave said. “I like boys.” He glanced around the table. Gram, Papa, and Paul were looking at him supportively. Helen had her hand over her mouth, but didn’t seem to be anything other than surprised. Julia, too. 

“I saw you, you know,” Tommy said, sneering. “Hugging that _faggot._ ” 

“Don’t you talk about him that way--”

“Was he the one that turned you queer?” 

“Shut _up!_ ” Dave slammed his fists on the table, rattling the silverware, and stood. “Shut your mouth!” 

“Make me!” Tommy stood. “Let’s go--you never could take me,” Tommy grimaced. “Now I know why.” 

Dave raised his fist, but Cliff and Helen held him back. Dave sat down. 

“Enough,” Paul said, face dark and furious. 

“I told you,” TJ said. “I warned you this would happen, and you didn’t listen to me.” 

“What?” Maria said. “Paul, you knew?” 

“Of course he knew,” TJ said. “But when I told him, instead of doing something about it, _he kicked us out._ ”

 _“Paul!”_ Maria said, and Dave had to close his eyes because she sounded, _fuck,_ betrayed. And Dave just wanted the knot in his chest to go away, and--she was talking to him.

“Davey, baby, don’t worry. It’s okay,” Dave opened his eyes and looked at her. Somehow, he doubted it, but he felt couldn’t help the surge of hope. “We’ll get you help.” 

And just that quickly, the hope was gone. He stared at Maria. “I don’t need _help._ ” Dave said, and _fuck_ if his voice wasn’t _pleading,_ “I’m fine. I’m _better_ than fine.” 

Maria shook her head, her face twisting with disgust. “No, You’re not fine! It’s sick! You’re sick!” 

“I’m not sick!” Dave cried. “It’s not--not a _disease._ ” 

“Of course not,” TJ said, and Dave blinked at him, surprised. “It’s a _condition._ Thankfully one that can be treated.” 

Maria was nodding again, and Dave shook his head, slowly. “No,” he said. “No, it isn’t. And it can’t. This is who I am.” 

“Stop saying that!” Maria cried. “You’re wrong!” 

“Mom,” Dave said, but Maria just shook her head harder. 

“No!” Maria yelled, and slammed her palm on the table. “For once in your life, Davey, stop being so _fucking_ stubborn. You will stop this!”

“Stop what?” Dave snapped. “Being gay? It’s not something I can stop!” 

“Go,” Maria said. “I don’t want to look you until you until you come to your senses. Why you’d choose to be a God damned homo--” 

“Maria!” Paul snapped, and like some kind of signal, everyone started talking, yelling at each other, over each other, but not to Dave--around Dave, about Dave, and--

Dave stood and knocked over his chair. It clattered to the floor and the yelling stopped as everyone turned to look at him, but Dave had already left the table. 

“David!” Paul called after him, but Dave didn’t turn. He grabbed his jacket as he walked out the front door, and as it slammed behind him, all he heard was his family continuing to argue. 

***

Dave climbed into his truck, blinking back tears he could already feel burning his eyes. No--he had cried enough already, he wasn’t going to do this anymore. He breathed deep, trying to calm himself, but it quickened, and Dave slammed his fists against the steering wheel. Once, and again, and then he was wailing, flinging his arms and catching the seat, the steering wheel, knocking his rear view mirror off his windshield--only stopping when he hit his window so hard the glass cracked. 

He pulled his hand in. There was a little cut on the side of his hand that welled with blood as he watched. He stuck his hand in his mouth, panting through his nose. 

He couldn’t stay here. He didn’t have anything--he couldn’t go back into that. Dave started his car. He’d go somewhere until everyone calmed down, then he’d go home. 

The thought crossed his mind that he might not have a home _to_ go back to, but he pushed it away. His dad was on his side. And Gram and Papa. He had people. He wasn’t alone. 

But he couldn’t wait there while they decided what to do with him. 

Dave pulled out of the driveway, and headed towards the Lima Bean. He’d get a cup of coffee, play some games on his phone. He might still have a book stuck in his glovebox that he could read, or if not, there was usually *something* around. He’d text his Dad, let him know he was okay, and when things calmed, when _those people_ left, because really, there was no other way this night _could_ end, Dave would go back home. Dave had a plan. 

Dave pulled into the parking lot of the Lima Bean and felt his heart sink. No cars. No lights. Dave parked. _Shit. Closed on Thanksgiving._ Dave closed his eyes and sunk back in his seat. He turned his car off. No point in wasting the gas. The sun was setting. He shivered. _Fuck._

His phone chimed in his pocket. Dave pulled it out. A text from Kurt. 

_Happy Thanksgiving!_

Dave snorted. His thumb hit the “call” button before he could think too closely, and just when he thought that this might be a bad idea, that Kurt didn’t mean he could bail Dave out _on Thanksgiving, _Kurt answered the call.__

 _“Dave!”_ Kurt said. surprised but seeming happy to hear from him. Or maybe he was just enjoying the holiday. 

“Hey, Kurt,” Dave said, and _fuck_ if you couldn’t hear _everything_ in his voice. 

_“David?”_ Kurt asked, concerned now, and Dave’s next breath shuddered, and the tears he was holding back threatened again, but Dave _wasn’t going to cry, damnit._

“I told them,” Dave said. “I mean, half of them knew already, and I didn’t mean to, but Uncle TJ was saying such fucked up things, and it slipped out and--” 

_“Where are you?”_ Kurt demanded. 

“Lima Bean.” 

There was a pause. _“Dave, the Lima Bean’s closed.”_

Dave chuckled dryly, sniffing. “Yeah. I’m in my truck.” 

_“Well you’re not staying there,”_ Kurt said. _“Are you okay to drive?”_

“Yeah, but Kurt--”

 _“Come over, Dave,”_ Kurt said, _“There’s more than enough pie, and it’s almost as good as yours, I promise.”_

Dave shook his head. “It’s your Thanksgiving,” he protested. “I shouldn’t have even called.” 

_“Dave, if you don’t stop this shit and get your butt over here now, Puck is going to eat all of the pie, and the last time that happened, he bounced off the wall for hours. Save me from Puck on sugar, and please come here.”_

Dave couldn’t help a small smile. He still felt the urge to cry, to scream, to act, but it was fading. “All right, Fancy,” Dave said. “I’ll be there soon.” 

_“Good.”_ Kurt said. _“And Dave?”_

“Yeah?” 

_“Thank you for calling.”_

Dave shook his head, “Ten minutes,” Dave said, again. Seriously. Dave should be thanking Kurt. And he would. Once he ate the pie. 

Dave hung up the phone, and took a moment to text his dad. _At Kurt’s. Call me when the shitstorm ends._ He didn’t get a text back, but then again, he wasn’t expecting one. His dad was going to be busy for a while. (Didn’t mean Dave didn’t feel anxious the longer his phone stayed silent). By the time he got to Kurt’s he had himself under control. 

It wasn’t until Dave got to Kurt’s that he wondered why Puckerman was there. Dave knew he and Finn were tight, but he didn’t realize it extended to Thanksgiving dinner tight. But sure enough, when Kurt opened the door, Dave heard Puck’s laugh in the seconds before Kurt barreled into Dave for a hug. 

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” Kurt said to Dave’s shoulder. “You’re going to come inside. We’re going to eat pie, and the spice cake Carole made, and too much ice cream. You’re going to tell me everything you need to, and nothing more. Then, we’re going to watch _A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving,_ because my Dad is weird, and insists we have to watch that before we can watch anything else.” 

Dave chuckled, rubbing Kurt’s back. “Sounds like a plan.” 

Kurt pulled back and lead him inside, taking his jacket and bringing him to the dining room table. A place had been set for him between Kurt and Puckerman, and he sat after getting another hug from Carole. Burt and Carole both seemed to be hovering, but they tried to hide it so, in the spirit of Thanksgiving, Dave let it slide. Kurt served the pie, ignoring Puckerman’s puppy-dog look ploy to get a bigger slice, and Dave smirked at him when his own slice ended up nearly twice the size. 

Finn snickered until he got his piece, the same size as Puck’s. “Hey!” he protested. “Not fair!” 

“Why does he always get the biggest _everything,_ ” Puck muttered, and Dave just hoped Burt couldn’t hear, even as he grinned smugly at Puck, and hate his first bite with relish. 

“Just lucky, I guess,” Dave whispered back, enjoying Puckerman’s glare until Kurt plopped a scoop of ice cream on top of Dave’s pie. 

“Play nice,” Kurt said, and Dave grinned up at him. Maybe it was just the light, but Dave would have sword Kurt’s ears were red. Kurt grabbed a different tub of ice cream, chocolate, and passed it to Puck with a spoon. It was enough to keep Puck happy, and Dave felt himself relaxing as conversation was kept light. He was with friends, people who knew and accepted him. His family would come around, he was just waiting for his dad to call. Thanksgiving wasn’t a wash. 

After Dave had eaten far too much pie and ice cream, Kurt sliced him a piece of cake and Dave looked at him, disbelievingly. 

“Please, Dave,” Kurt said. “It’s a national holiday to gluttony. If you’re not eating until something hurts, you’re doing it wrong.” 

Dave shook his head, but he ate the cake, anyway. After they finished, Burt and Carole retired to the living room, and Kurt waved Puck and Finn away, saying that, “Dave’ll help me.” 

It was the least Dave could do; he helped Kurt clear the table and manned the towel while Kurt washed.

“You want to tell me what happened?” Kurt asked, softly. 

“Kinda,” Dave said. “But kinda not.” Talking about it would bring it all back up again, fresh, and Dave really didn’t want to do that. “Kinda seems like all I do.” 

Kurt shrugged. “You’re going through a tough time. I get that.” 

“Yeah, but you shouldn’t have to bear the brunt of my issues,” Dave said. 

“Will it help?” 

Dave sighed, because he wasn’t sure. His phone beeped, and he reached into his pocket to pull it out, juggling the casserole dish in his hand. It was from his Dad. 

_Good. Stay there for now. I’ll call when the idiots leave._

Dave looked at his phone. How long would that be? They didn’t seriously sit down to pie after all of that? It’s been almost an hour. When could he go _home?_

“Dave?” Kurt asked. 

“Uncle TJ started it,” Dave said, carefully putting the casserole dish on the counter. Kurt turned the water off and leaned back against the sink. “He was bugging Cliff about the DADT repeal, and then Tommy started in, talking about how he didn’t want to serve with _perverts,_ and I,” Dave broke off, laughing bitterly and licking his back molar. “I said ‘we’ and they caught it so I told them and then they were yelling, and my mom said I was _sick,_ like I had a _disease_ that she _didn't want to look at me_ so I _left,_ ” Dave swallowed and looked at his hands. He had wrapped the towel around them so tightly his fingers were white. He forced his hands to let go. “Dad just told me to stay here a while longer, until they leave.” 

“David,” Kurt said, but Dave wasn’t ready for that. 

“It’s a good thing I told my Dad,” he said. “And that Gram and Papa were there. They were on my side, at least.” 

Dave sat at the table. “The look on Mom’s face,” he said. “She was horrified. Disgusted.” He looked up at Kurt. “Because of me.” 

Kurt shook his head, and Dave didn’t blame him for not saying anything. What could Kurt say? Dammit, this was why he didn’t want to talk about it. 

Kurt sat next to Dave and grabbed his hand. “There is nothing horrifying or disgusting about you,” Kurt said. “If she can’t see that, it’s on her. Not you.” 

Dave shook his head. “She’s my mom.” 

“And she’s human. And capable of mistakes. And if she doesn’t love you for who you are, then she’s making a big one.” 

Dave breathed in deep and wiped a hand over his face. It was dry, thank fuck. “Thanks Kurt,” he said, and picked up the towel. “Come on. Let’s finish the dishes and watch Charlie Brown fuck up Thanksgiving.” 

Kurt snorted, but stood. “That’s not how it happens, and you know it.” 

“True. Hey, does Peppermint Patty remind you of Santana at all?” 

“Somehow, I can’t see Brittany as Darcy.” 

It was another hour before Paul called, and when he did, he called the Hudmel house line. Burt got up to answer, and Dave could just make out what Burt was saying.

“Hello?...Oh, hello Paul. Yeah, he’s here...Seems to be holding up okay. Is everything...  
I see. No, you’re right. I think that’s a good idea...Sure, that’s fine...okay, then. See you soon.” Burt hung up the phone. 

“David, can I talk to you?” he asked from the kitchen, and Dave left his spot on the couch to joint Burt in the kitchen. “That was your dad on the phone,” Burt said. “He’s coming to get you. He asked if you could leave your truck here for the night, and that’s fine. I heard you pull up, and I want to take a look at those brakes before you drive it again, anyway.” Dave shifted uneasily, but nodded. He didn’t know why his Dad didn’t want him driving, but he had an idea, and it wasn’t something he really wanted to dwell on. “Now, Kurt told us _something_ happened at your house today because you told them that you’re gay.” Dave nodded. That was putting it mildly. “I just want you to know, that if you need to, the sofa pulls out. You understand?” 

Dave looked up, surprised, and nodded. Looked like Kurt got more than his stubborn streak from his father. “Yes. Thank you.” 

Burt nodded, clapping Dave on the shoulder. “Of course, you might have to fight mohawk for it,” Burt said with a grin. “If that boy’s here any more often, I’m gonna start assigning chores.” 

Dave cracked a grin at that, and let Burt lead him back into the living room. It was odd, but for the first time Dave realized that he was _taller_ than Burt; he was such a big presence, his actual size had never figured into it. Dave wondered if that meant he was finally losing his fear of the man. 

Paul drove up fifteen minutes later, and Dave followed Carole out when she went to answer the doorbell. She ushered Paul inside, and he made a beeline for Dave, wrapping him in an awkward Dad hug. Dave couldn’t bring himself to mind. 

“I’m sorry,” Paul said. “I never should have let them back in my house.” 

“You didn’t know,” Dave said. 

“I should have known.” Paul said, and pulled back. “Are you ready? All the yelling woke Heather, and she won’t stop screaming. Julia said you’re the only one she’s seen able to put her down when she’s like this.” 

A small laugh escaped Dave. “Yeah,” Dave said, then, “Wait, Cliff and Julia stayed?” 

Paul nodded. “You should have seen it. As soon as you left, Julia ripped into that asshole. Cliff too, just more, you know, stoically.” Paul leaned in. Dave nodded, a little dazed. He went to get his coat, and found Kurt waiting with it. 

“You going to be okay?” he asked. 

Dave shrugged. “One way or another,” Dave said. “I’ll have to be.” He took his coat, and slipped it on, following Kurt out to stand on the front porch. “I’ll text you later?” Kurt nodded. Dave heard his father behind them, thanking Burt and Carole. “Tell Finn and Puckerman I say bye, yeah?” 

Kurt folded his arms against the cold and nodded. Dave hesitated, feeling like there was something else he was supposed to do, or say, but the only thing he could think of was to kiss Kurt goodbye, but they didn’t _do_ that, and--

It didn’t matter. After a moment, Kurt bit his lip, leaned in and up, and kissed Dave on the cheek. Dave raised a hand to his face, fingers touching the spot, and he looked in surprise at Kurt. Kurt met his eyes, though his ears were bright red now, and he offered a small smile. “Luck,” he said, and shrugged. 

Dave grinned, but the Paul came out the door, and the moment to say something was lost. Dave gave Kurt another smile, one not quite so wide, thanked Burt and Carole, and followed his Dad to the car. 

“Well?” Dave asked, once they were on their way. “What’s the damage?” 

Paul glanced over at Dave, and said, “The Dick left with his wife and the Little Bastard a little bit after I texted you.” Paul sighed. “Then your mother started to yell--I’m not going to repeat it, it was bad enough she said it.” They stopped at a red light, and Paul turned to dave and said, “It was decided that, for the time being, she would stay elsewhere.”

“Dad...” Dave said. “You--mom’s gone?” 

“It should only be temporary.” Paul looked away, started to drive again. “I want us to be a family again. The three of us.”

Dave looked away. He couldn’t believe--his very presence had broken his family apart. He had seen the look on his mother’s face. Dave didn’t think there’d be any reconciliation. 

“But I want you to know, that if it comes down to you or her, I’ll choose you every time.” Paul swallowed. “You’re my son.” 

Dave reached out and squeezed Paul’s forearm, to let him know Dave heard, because he couldn’t trust his voice. Paul covered Dave’s hand with his own, and then they were home.

The house seemed bigger, emptier, even with Heather trying to bring the roof down with her screaming. Dave pushed aside dinner, and his mom, and everything, and took Heather from Julia, holding her close to him so that she was lying against his chest. He rocked her and began to sing as low as he could, snippets of songs mixed together, _Mocking Bird,_ and _Golden Slumbers,_ and _Feeling Good,_ until the cries eased and he started to hum, the sound rumbling in his chest and she drifted back to sleep. 

Dave gently put her down in the crib, praying she wouldn’t wake, but she just snuffled and curled around her blanket, asleep. Dave stayed with her, breathing in the smell of clean baby and sleep, watching her breathe. 

When Dave went back downstairs, Julia wrapped him in a giant hug. “Even if I didn’t still love you for you, I’d love you for putting her down.” Dave gave a short laugh, and hugged her back. 

“You’d get the same effect from _Magic Fingers._ ” Dave said. Julia tsked, and smacked him lightly on the back of his head. 

He pulled away and turned to Cliff. Cliff shrugged. “I knew.” 

“What?” Dave said. “How?” 

“I have a brother,” Cliff said. “He was dishonorably discharged when I was in High School for ‘gross misconduct,’ which is military speak for ‘caught being gay.’” Cliff shrugged. “He’s still my brother, same as always. You remind me of him.” 

Helen found him next, and pulled him into a hug just as Julia had, but where Julia resembled a bird, light bones and graceful, Helen was built like Dave, and as she squeezed he had trouble breathing. “I should have said something earlier,” she said, “But I was so surprised, I--” He pulled back and held Dave at arms length. “Are you happy?” 

“At the moment?” Dave asked. “Mostly, overwhelmed.” 

“Well,” Helen said. “Now you have to come visit.” Dave blinked. Why would he--oh. Helen lived in San Francisco. Gay Mecca. “I’ve got a couple friends who would love to meet you.” Helen said. Dave smiled. 

“I’d like that,” he said. 

Gram and Papa were next, but their hugs were also goodbyes, as it was late enough that they needed to head home. When Paul left with them, Dave sat in the kitchen with Helen and talked about San Francisco, and Helen’s involvement in the gay scene. While Helen herself was straight, she was in the minority in her neighborhood, and was an active ally within the community. They even set a tentative date for Dave to fly out to California. 

Everyone drifted off to bed once Paul got home. Once in bed, Dave texted Kurt. 

_mom’s at a hotel, but aunt helen’s a hag :)_

After a moment, Kurt responded. 

_I will never get used to the way your texts sprawl across the emotional spectrum. I’m sorry about your mother. Yay for your aunt?_

Dave snorted. _thnx. y yay for aunt. visiting her in sf this summer._

_Oh, that’s just not fair. ;p_

Dave looked at the clock, and bit his lip. He was tired, but too high strung to really sleep. _u goin to bed soon?_

 _Ha! Sleep! Black Friday sales! I’ll sleep on Sunday. I’m pickin Mercedes up at midnight._ Dave shook his head. Ridiculous. _You want to come with?_

_lol no. but thnx._

_Heathen. :)_

_have fun, fancy._

_Sleep well, Dave._


	5. Black Friday Rule

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Day After

Dave slept late the next morning, staggering down the stairs in pj bottoms and a tee shirt a little past eleven. Cliff and Paul were watching TV in the living room, Heather playing quietly in her playpen, and Dave waved to them on his way to the kitchen. He gathered a brunch from the leftovers, and ate alone at the kitchen table, bare feet growing cold from the tile. 

When he was finished, he rinsed his plate and joined the others in the living room. He sat on the couch next to his head, and got his hair ruffled for his troubles. Dave ducked away, but couldn’t help the smile. The TV was tuned to Sports Center, and the analysis of yesterday’s game.

“Where’s Aunt Helen?” he asked after a while. There were a couple of questions he still wanted to ask her about San Francisco; were the hills really that steep? Did she knew any gays like him? 

“She took Julie Black Friday shopping,” Paul said. “They’ll be back for dinner.” Dave nodded.

“Any word from Mom?” Dave asked quietly. He wasn’t sure which answer he wanted. Thinking about either made his palms sweat.

Paul hesitated before answering. “Not yet.”

Dave nodded, and cursed himself as a coward because he was relieved to put that confrontation off. And it would be a confrontation, because as much as he got his stubborn from his father, Dave got his aggression from his mother.

“She’ll come around,” Paul said. Dave didn’t bother trying to respond to that.

Just as Dave was thinking that maybe he should shower, or at least change out of his pajamas, the doorbell rang. Dave, Paul, and Cliff looked at eachother then, almost as one, Paul and Cliff put their fingers to their nose. Dave rolled his eyes.

“Real mature, guys,” Dave huffed. He stood and tugged his shirt back into place as he walked to the door. He peaked through the curtain next to the door and frowned. “What in the world—“ he muttered, and opened the door.

Sebastian smiled at him, smarmy as fuck, but somehow genuine at the same time. He was dressed in a Dalton Lacrosse sweatshirt and jeans and, while his hair was still—what had Kurt said? CW?— _Sebastian,_ he didn’t look anything like the prep-school schemer, or the _Scandal’s_ bicycle.

But he was still Sebastian, and as Dave stood braced in the doorway, Sebastian raked his eyes over Dave, smirking when he saw the pjs. Dave looked down at himself. So his pajamas had little pirate ships on them. So what?

“You know,” Sebastian said after a moment. “Usually, when a guy greets me in sleepwear, it’s considerably tighter. And smaller. And not actually designed for sleep.”

Dave flushed, but found his voice. “What are you doing here?”

“I was in the neighborhood,” Sebastian said. At Dave’s look, Sebastian rolled his eyes. “My date last night lives around here. I saw your truck. Thought I’d stop by. I’d have called, but I don’t have your number.”

Dave nodded and Sebastian shifted. “So are you going to invite me in or not?” He gestured to himself. “Unlike someone we both know, I’m not going to out you just by the way I’m dressed.”

Dave winced, but stepped aside to let Sebastian in. “It’s kinda a moot point now, but thanks.”

Sebastian froze where he was examining the chandelier with a look that clearly sneered _ugh, new money,_ and snapped his look to Dave. “What? When?”

Dave shrugged and wished he had pockets to stuff his hands into. “Last night.” Dave laughed bitterly, and settled for crossing his arms. “I sure know how to clear a room.”

Sebastian didn’t ask if Dave was okay, because that’s not who Sebastian was, not what their friendship was like. Instead he looked at Dave, saw he wasn’t on the edge of breakdown, and nodded slowly. “Good to know. Next time, I’ll raid Gay-Face’s closet first.”

Dave rolled his eyes, but lead Sebastian to the living room. Might as well introduce him. “Why do you call him that? I mean, I thought you were friends now.”

“Frenemies,” Sebastian corrected.

Dave paused, and turned to look at him. “That’s really gay, dude.”

Sebastian just raised his eyebrows to say, _Yeah? Your point?_

Rolling his eyes, Dave brought Sebastian into the living room. Paul and Cliff looked up at Dave, questioning. “Uh. This is my Dad, and my Uncle Cliff, and the midget in the playpen is my cousin Heather. 

“Bah!” Heather cried out. Sebastian looked at her, dubiously, but he smiled at Paul and Cliff. 

“And this is my--friend. Sebastian.” 

Sebastian stepped forward to shake their hands, charming and obviously posh. Paul’s eyebrow had gone up at the way Dave hesitated over friend, and was a little extra awkward when shaking Dave’s hand. _Sonofabitch,_ Dave thought. But before Dave could say anything to convince his father that he and Sebastian weren’t--that Sebastian wasn’t--Paul said: 

“Dave, why don’t you go change while we get to know Sebastian a little better.” It wasn’t a suggestion. Dave hesitated, not wanting to leave Sebastian to his father’s questions--and equally not wanting to leave his father to Sebastian's answers--but there was nothing he could think to say, so he jogged off to change. 

He ended up showering after all, as quick as he could, and dressing in the first clothes that came to hand. He grabbed his phone off his end table and jogged back down the stairs.

Paul was playing with Heather—and Dave would never _not_ laugh when he saw the faces Paul would make to try to get Heather to smile, even if he knew he made the same faces—and Cliff was talking with Sebastian at the kitchen table. Someone had gotten Sebastian a cup of coffee, and he sat like he was practicing for the boardroom. Which, knowing Sebastian, he might well have been.

It was strange, having Sebastian here. Dave completely believed that Sebastian had been telling the truth before, that his latest hookup had been in town, and that he had seen Dave’s truck, even that he had a hook-up Thanksgiving night. When it came to sex, Dave put nothing past Sebastian, but having coffee and talking to Cliff in his kitchen the day after Dave’s home had been split in two seemed a bit much.

Still, Sebastian’s presence kept him from dwelling too much on the fact that his mother—

Dave shook himself and joined the conversation.

It was nearing one o’clock when Paul mentioned lunch, inviting Sebastian to stay. It was just leftovers, but Sebastian pulled out a charming smile and accepted. Dave’s phone buzzed as he set the oven to pre-heat to warm up the sides. It was Kurt.

_And how are things in the daylight?_

Dave smiled, leaning against the counter. _better. thnx u still out?_

_Just dropped Mercedes off. I’m waiting for her to separate our bags. We went. We shopped. We conquered._

Dave thought for a minute. Mercedes lived just a few blocks away, by the Baptist Church.

“Hey Dad?” he asked, not looking up from his phone. “Can I ask Kurt over, too?” Dave could feel the power of Sebastian’s smirk and refused to look at him. Paul sounded surprised, but said sure, as there was more than enough food.

_u want to come over? will feed u turkey. seb. is here._

Dave bit his lip as he waited. He needn’t have worried.

_Sebastian?! Why is--I’ll be there in ten._

_cool. c u then._

Dave pocketed his phone. “He’ll be here in a few. He was over at Mercedes’s house.”

Sebastian raised an eyebrow. “He wasn’t out at the sales? That doesn’t seem like him.”

“Back already, apparently,” Dave shrugged, and put the stuffing in the oven. This time, when the doorbell rang, Dave went without question. He smoothed the front of his shirt, ran his fingers through his hair, and told himself he wasn’t _primping,_ and opened the door for Kurt.

Kurt grinned at Dave, and though Dave could tell Kurt was dressed for work and not for fashion, he was still the fanciest one there, in skinny jeans with his lace up Doc Martins, and a blue jacket that really brought out his eyes. Dave grinned back, hesitating just a moment too long just _looking,_ trying not to dwell on the fact that Kurt had kissed him last night (on the cheek, but still), and stood to the side to let Kurt in. 

Dave was very aware that this was the first time Kurt had been to his house—usually they met at the Lima Bean, or at Kurt’s house, and Dave couldn’t help but assign some significance to that fact. Kurt entered the same way Sebastian had, looking at the décor and assessing, but instead of Sebastian’s class assessment, Kurt was all about style.

“Well?” Dave asked. “Does it pass muster?”

Kurt raised an eyebrow at him. “You want my honest opinion?” Dave nodded. “It looks like a show house – neat, clean, with a minimal eye towards style, but no soul.”

“So if I told you my mom copied it from a magazine?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised. It’s not bad it’s just—unoriginal.” Kurt paused. “Look at me, insulting your house and I haven’t even said hello.” Kurt grinned, cheeky. “Hello, Dave.”

“Hello, Kurt,” Dave said, rolling his eyes, but playing along. “May I take your jacket?”

“Oh,” Kurt said, “A gentleman.” But he took off his coat and Dave grabbed a hanger. Kurt was wearing a sweater underneath, a deep blue grey that had some sort of sparkle woven through, and a scarf tied at his neck. He looked—really good.

“Sebastian showed up about half an hour ago,” Dave said as he hung up the jacket. “Said he spent the night in town, and recognized my truck.”

Kurt blinked at him. “Spent the night—oh for, it’s _Thanksgiving!_ ” Dave shrugged, because, well, yeah. Kurt sighed, exasperated, but a little amused, too. _Right,_ Dave thought. _Frenemies._

Dave led Kurt through to the Kitchen. “Dad, you remember Kurt,” he said, and Kurt waved hello. “This is my Uncle Cliff, and his daughter, Heather.”

Kurt shook hands with Cliff, but his eyes lit up when he saw Heather. “Oh, look at you!” he cooed, his voice sing-song and higher than usual. “Hello, darling!”

“Hey, Heather-feather, say ‘hi’ to Kurt.” Dave prompted. Heather looked at Dave, then looked at Kurt, then looked at Dave. She raspberried.

“Heather!” Cliff said.

Heather looked at Kurt and grinned wide, clapping her hands. Kurt _melted._ “She’s beautiful.”

“She’s a pain,” Cliff said.

“She’s gonna be a terror,” Dave said, and took Heather from his father, bringing her over to Kurt. “Aren’t you. Gonna make all the boys jump through hoops and ignore them anyway, aren’t you?” Heather giggled, and reached towards Kurt’s broach. “Uh-uh,” Dave said, pulling her away. “That’s not a toy.”

Dave turned to Kurt, and was going to ask if he wanted to hold her, but Kurt was looking at Dave and obviously holding back laughter. “What?” Dave asked.

Kurt shook his head, but Sebastian had no such compunctions. “You are such a cliché. You’re going to end up with a little yappy dog, aren’t you. One you carry in a pink rhinestone bag. Called, like, Missy.”

Dave casually flipped Sebastian off behind Heather’s back, and Kurt snorted. Sebastian’s flashed a shit-eating grin. “I used to think that would be Kurt’s dog, but he’s more of a miniature bulldog type—something small with an attitude problem.”

Kurt’s grin turned sharp. “And of course, your dog would be purebred; one with a pedigree and three names, inbreeding and all.”

Sebastian raised his coffee in salute to Kurt’s point, and Paul was giving Dave a look. _These_ were Dave’s friends? Dave shrugged. He knew they were very different from the guys Paul was used to seeing over—neither Kurt nor Sebastian could be considered “dudes” though Sebastian might be able to pull off “bro”—but they were also better friends than any of the guys from the team had ever been—with the exception of Az, if that could still be an exception.The oven timer dinged, and Dave went to put Heather in the pen while Cliff and Paul set the table.

Lunch was—interesting. Sebastian could hold his own in any political discussion, and while Kurt only chimed in on certain issues, and the four of them had no problems keeping the conversation from getting personal. Sebastian was able to talk sports with Paul—Lacrosse, which was something Dave had never been interested in—and Kurt surprised Cliff with a comprehensive knowledge of not just cars, but mechanics in general. He seemed most familiar with motorcycles, the American brands, anyway, and seemed genuinely interested in Cliff’s stories of the bike he had in Afghanistan.

It was good to have his friends there, and more so to have everyone in the room know and not care, but as the day went on and the phone stayed silent, Dave began to grow antsy. By the time they were lingering over the end of the leftover pie, Dave was nearly twitching. It didn’t go unnoticed. 

“Yes it looks stylish, but it doesn’t have the kind of power that--oh my God, are you sitting on an anthill?” Kurt said. 

Dave stopped mid-shift and slumped back into his seat, ignoring the way Paul was laughing into his coffee mug. Kurt was looking at him, bemused, and Dave sighed. 

“I’m not going to have any dignity anymore, am I?” 

Sebastian snorted. “What makes you think you had any to begin with?” 

Dave, very calmly, reached a hand out to Sebastian’s shoulder, and shoved. Sebastian caught himself half-off the chair, but was laughing hard enough to make getting back into the chair a challenge. Heather started crying in the other room, and Dave glared at Sebastian half-heartedly.

“See what you did,” he said, and stood, waving for Cliff to sit back down. Heather had woken alone, and was standing in her playpen, holding herself up by the top rail, and crying for attention. As soon as she saw Dave her cries stopped, and she reached a hand up to him. Dave scooped her up with a mock-roar, making “nom nom” noises as he “ate” her belly. Heather shrieked with laughter, and Dave lowered her down, chuckling to himself and rubbing his ear. 

“You have quite a set of lungs, Heather-feather,” Dave said as he bounced her. 

“Pah!” Heather said, and tried to grab Dave’s chin by sticking her fingers in his mouth. Dave covered his teeth with his lips and “nommed” on her hand until she used her other hand to smack him in the back of the head. 

“Oof,” Dave said, and shifted her around, so her was holding her upside down by the waist. Heather clapped her hands, giggling, and Dave heard a muffled sound from the kitchen. He looked and saw Kurt standing in the doorway, one hand over his mouth, and the other holding up his iPhone, recording the whole thing.

“Why?” Dave asked. Kurt just giggled harder. Dave rolled his eyes, righted Heather, and brought her into the kitchen. He passed Heather off to Cliff, “And here’s a present for Daddy!” and Cliff eyed him suspiciously until he thought to check her diaper. Cliff made a face, and stood, carrying Heather with him upstairs to change her. Dave leaned against the counter. 

“Whelp,” Paul said, standing. “I’ve got an appointment with a CSI marathon. Why don’t you boys go to a movie, or something?” 

“Okay, Dad,” Dave said, and Paul disappeared into the front den, where he could watch in peace. 

“I would not recommend going to a movie today,” Kurt said. “The only good movies out are kids movies, and they will be packed with little kids.” Kurt shuddered. “Sticky candy fingers and crying and talking though the movie, no thanks.” 

“The mall’s out, too,” Sebastian said. “Not all of us want to deal with the hordes for that perfect pair of pumps.”

Kurt sniffed. “They are boot heels, not pumps, and they make my ass look fantastic.” 

“We could watch a movie here,” Dave said, because they needed to change the subject away from Kurt’s ass asap. “I’ve got a bunch of stuff, plus whatever’s on demand or on Netflix.” 

“Where?” Kurt asked, perking up. 

“My room,” Dave said, and hesitated, because the idea of Kurt in his bedroom was worse than Kurt’s boot-heel-boosted ass. But there was nothing for it, and if Dave acted like there was an issue--God, just, not in front of Sebastian. “Come on.” 

Dave led them up the stairs to his room, giving the nickel tour as he went. The guest rooms’ doors were closed and Dave passed them as quick as possible, bringing them up the stairs to his bedroom. 

It was--mostly clean. A little disorganized, and his bed was unmade, but he stuffed his pjs under his pillow as he pulled his comforter up, and gestured towards his television. There was a bookcase built into the wall behind the TV, and it was half books/half DVDs. Dave gestured towards it, and Kurt and Sebastian drifted over as Dave looked around the room to make sure there was nothing else that needed to be taken care of immediately. 

It looked good, though Dave took the extra moment to ease his closet door shut, and join the others at the bookcase. 

“There are a lot of pirate movies, here,” Kurt said, fingers trailing over _Pirates of the Caribbean: Curse of the The Black Pearl._ Dave shrugged. 

“I like pirates.” 

“No excuse,” Sebastian said, pulling _Treasure Planet off the shelf._ “Really, Cubby?” 

Dave scowled, and snatched the DVD away, putting it back on the shelf. “I was eight,” he grumbled, and looked over the collection himself. He did have a lot of pirate movies, from the Johnny Depp movies, to _Captain Blood_ in black and white with Errol Flynn, to the aforementioned _Treasure Planet._ He also had a good sized collection of sports movies, including all three _Mighty Ducks_ movies, _Remember the Titans,_ and _Men With Brooms,_ because he may have had a crush on Paul Gross that forgave owning a curling movie, (Not that he realized that until later in life, as it would explain the obsessive viewing of _due South_ reruns on TNT). Other than that, he had an odd collection: _South Park: Bigger, Longer, and Uncut;_ the _Lord of the Rings_ trilogy; _Batman; Iron Man_ and _Iron Man 2; Captain America; Thor;_ what he considered the Adam Sandler Trilogy: _The Waterboy, Happy Gilmore,_ and _Billy Madison; Love Actually_ (which he had seen late night on TV over Christmas last year, and bought at WalMart once it hit the five dollar bins, and was a really good movie, so shut up); _Mean Girls; The Princess Bride; Sherlock Holmes;_ and full seasons of _South Park, The Office, due South, It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia,_ and _The X-Files._

Now that he was looking at his collection, maybe it would have been better just to go straight to on demand or Netflix. There would be nothing here they would all three have in common, and the scrutiny was, frankly, making him uncomfortable. 

Kurt’s fingers hovered over _Mean Girls, The Princess Bride,_ and _Love Actually_ (the last with some surprise), before grabbing The _Lord of the Rings_ box set and _Iron Man 2._ Sebastian picked up the _due South_ box set. 

“Cubby.” He said. “Explain.” 

Dave sighed, rolling his eyes, and grabbed the set. He pulled out the booklet that came with the DVDs and opened to his favorite picture on Paul Gross, looking directly at the camera. He showed Sebastian the picture. Kurt peaked, and raised his eyebrows appreciatively. Sebastian continued to snicker at him, but he conceded the point with a nod. Dave put the disks back, and Sebastian picked _Thor_ and _Billy Madison._

_“Thor?”_ Kurt asked. 

Sebastian grinned. “I have a certain affinity with Loki,” he said, and at Kurt’s muttered, _well that’s not surprising,_ he added, “And if Cubby here can have eye candy, then so can I.” 

Dave rolled his eyes, and looked over the movies himself. He’d be happy with any they picked, and after a thought, added _Mean Girls_ to the mix. _In for a penny, in for a pound,_ he thought, and said, “I wanna check something.” 

He led them back downstairs, and checked the cabinets. He pulled down popcorn, and dug the fancy popcorn maker out of the back of the cabinet. 

“Fancy,” Kurt said, picking up the jar of kernels and spinning it in his hands. Dave flashed a grin over his shoulders and opened the pantry doors. _Let’s see. Flour. Sugar. Ooh, brown sugar._ Dave pulled the ingredients out, piling them in his arms. 

“Dave,” Kurt called out. “Your phone’s ringing. Who’s _the devil in red?_ ” 

“Santana,” Dave called back. “Hey, see if she wants to join us.” Dave walked out of the closet. “I’m making cookies.” 

Kurt’s eyes lit up, and he answered the phone. “Hail, Satan!” he said, and snorted at whatever Santana said in response. “He’s got his hands full. Sebastian and I are at his place. He’s making cookies--How am I--Dave,” he asked, pulling the phone from his ear slightly. “What kind of cookies?” 

“Uh,” Dave said, looking at the ingredients in front of him. “Spice? Maybe a chocolate-nut?” 

Kurt repeated it back to Santana, and Dave looked at Sebastian, who looked faintly poleaxed. _What?_ Dave mouthed to him. Sebastian just raised an eyebrow and gestured at Dave. Dave shrugged. 

“Santana and Brittany will be here shortly,” Kurt said, hanging up the phone. “And she said that there better be chocolate something when they get here.” 

Dave nodded. “We’ll start there, then.” Dave pulled down mixing bowls and grabbed butter and eggs from the refrigerator. “Why don’t you decide on what to watch first.” 

“We’ll decide when the girls get here,” Sebastian said and sat down at the table. “This is much more interesting to watch.” 

Dave rolled his eyes, but set about preheating the oven and measuring out ingredients. As he worked, Kurt and Sebastian began to talk, which was good, but they were talking about him, which wasn’t so good.

“You know,” Sebastian said, “I don’t think this is what they meant by ‘trained bear.’” 

Dave casually flipped him off over his shoulder. 

“And they said you couldn't domesticate bears,” Kurt mused. Dave rolled his eyes, because really? The bear jokes would get old. 

“Ha, ha, ha,” Dave said, hoping to cut it off. “You’re some regular comedians.” 

“Aww, don’t worry, Cubby,” Sebastian said. “I’m sure you’ll make someone and excellent wife, someday.” 

Without missing a beat, Dave scooped up half a handful of flour and flung it at Sebastian. Sebastian sputtered, blinking in shock, as Kurt broke out in giggles. 

“You know?” Dave said, smirking. “I think you’re right.” 

Sebastian shook his head, flour puffing off in clouds. He looked down at himself, but it was rueful and not pissed. As Kurt’s giggles eased, Dave took pity. “If you want to go clean up, you can use my shower upstairs. We can put that through the washer, if you want.” 

“Good idea,” Sebastian said, and stood, pulling the sweatshirt off and inside out to catch most of the flour. It left him in jeans and an undershirt, evidence of last night clear on his neck and shoulders. He smirked at them both, and sauntered upstairs. Dave watched him go, and looked over at Kurt. Kurt’s ears were pink, but he shook his head with fond exasperation. 

“He really is shameless, isn’t he?” Dave muttered. 

Kurt snorted, and looked at Dave. The red deepened, but he said. “He has an active and varied sex life. There’s nothing wrong with that; why should he be ashamed?” 

Dave looked away. He couldn’t have this conversation looking at Kurt. “I didn’t say he should be, just that he wasn’t.” 

“Good,” Kurt said. He sighed. “I’m almost envious. The amount of ass he gets is just not fair.” Dave looked over his shoulder; the red had spread from Kurt’s ears down across his cheeks. “Still, it’s not for me. I fear I’m hardwired for monogamy.” 

Dave looked away. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting to be with someone special.” Dave said. “And there’s nothing that says you can’t be ‘active and varied’ with one person, right?” 

“Right,” Kurt said, strangely breathless. Dave couldn’t turn around. Just the idea of Kurt in ‘active and varied’ positions was enough to make his blood rush. Luckily, the doorbell rang, and Kurt slipped away to let Santana and Brittany in. 

“I don’t smell cookies,” Santana called from the front hall. Dave shook himself and started spooning the dough onto cookie sheets. 

“That’s because they’re not done yet,” Dave said. One of the girls came up and hugged him from behind. He looked down to see a bright pink _My Little Pony_ watch. “Hi, Britt.” 

“Hi,” Brittany said into his back. “You smell like cookies.” 

“Thanks, Britt,” Dave said after a moment, and then had to figure out how to put the cookie sheets into the oven with Brittany still attached. 

“Where’s Sneeky Warbler?” Santana asked. 

“Shower,” Kurt said. Santana smirked, and Kurt rolled his eyes. “Please. Dave threw flour in his face, so he went to wash it off.” 

“What’s he even doing here?” Santana said. “I didn’t realize you two were friends, Cubby.” 

Dave just shrugged. He knew how unlikely it seemed, but somehow Sebastian had become someone who could show up unannounced and not piss Dave off. It was a list of people that was slowly growing. “We met at Scandals,” Dave said. “And started to talk when those two,” Dave pointed at Kurt, “started to conspire against short, gelled, and stupid.” Dave put the sheets in the oven, bending carefully as to not dislodge Brittany, and closed the oven door. He took out two more cookie sheets, and began to repeat the process. 

“Britt?” Dave asked quietly. “Why are you still hugging me?” 

“You looked like you needed hugs,” Brittany said. Dave patted Brittany’s arm. 

“Thank you, Britt.” Brittany squeezed once and let go, nearly skipping back to Santana, ponytail bouncing. It was odd seeing both girls out of their cheerleading uniforms, even though he had sort of gotten used to seeing Santana without it. Even they were dressed down today, Brittany in jeans and a fitted pink flannel shirt, and Santana in a green zip-up hoodie with black yoga pants. 

Dave heard footsteps on the stairs, but instead of Sebastian, it was Cliff with Heather. Brittany squealed and bounced over to the baby. Santana looked at both of them with not a little fear, and Dave hid a smirk behind the pretense of adjusting the cookie dough on the tray. 

“Looks like a party,” Cliff said. 

“Looks like,” Dave agreed. “This is my Uncle Cliff, and and the munchkin is Heather. Uncle Cliff, the blonde bouncing your daughter is Brittany, and this is her girlfriend, Santana.”

Santana jerked her chin at him with a smirk, and Brittany cooed at Heather, something about fairy dust and flying. 

“That’s all we need,” Cliff said. “She gets into enough already and she can barely walk.” He breathed deep. “Dave, you baking cookies?” 

“Yep,” Dave said. “Movie marathon. We’re starting with...” Dave trailed off, looking at the table. Santana glanced at the movies. 

_“Mean Girls,”_ she said. 

“Want to join us?” Dave said. 

“I think I’ll pass,” Cliff said. “You have fun.” He turned to Brittany. “If you get tired of watching her, just bring her back. I’ll be with Dave’s dad in the den.” Cliff left and Dave checked on the cookies. Almost. 

He dug crouched down to dig out the cooling racks, but they weren’t in the cabinet he thought they were. He thought for a moment, hands braced on his knees. Maybe there were up where the mixing bowls were? But he hadn’t seen them. Dave stood and opened the cabinets. He didn’t see them. He reached up, stretching on tiptoe to feel past where he could see, and felt the edges of the wire rack. They must have fallen down. He reached a little further, aware of the sudden jostling at the table behind him, but when he pulled the racks down and turned, Kurt and Santana were sitting quietly at the table, no evidence that anything had happened save for the smirk on Santana’s face and the fading flush on Kurt’s cheeks. 

Dave decided he didn’t need to know, and focused on the cookies. Sebastian joined them later, and Dave wondered if he was going to find any surprises when he went up to his room later, but then the timer for the cookies dinged and before too long he was batting grabby hands away from too hot pans. 

“You’re worse than Heather,” Dave grumbled at Sebastian. Turned out the Warbler had a bit of a sweet tooth. Sebastian stuck his tongue out at Dave, and settled back. By the time the last batch was in the oven, the first had cooled enough that Dave sent them off with his friends to start the movie. He turned on the popcorn popper and moved his attention to the dishes that had gathered. 

Dave joined them as soon as the cookies were all cooling on the counter. Sebastian had claimed the easy chair his father usually used, and Santana and Brittany had curled up together on one side of the couch. Kurt had nabbed the other end seat, leaving a space just big enough for Dave to sit in the middle. 

Briefly, Dave thought about sitting somewhere else entirely--just avoiding everything and sitting _safely,_ on the floor for example, but then Kurt patted the cushion next to him and Dave sat and passed around the popcorn. 

Dave had a surprisingly hard time focusing on the movie, as by the time they had finished _Mean Girls,_ Heather was asleep in her playpen and everyone on the couch had sunk into each other. Dave found himself sitting with his arm around Santana with Brittany draped over them so her feet were off the arm of the couch and her head was just braced on Dave’s thigh. Kurt had slid over from his side of the couch, tucked his feet up against the armrest, with the result that his entire left side was pressed along Dave’s right. When Kurt had first shifted, Dave had frozen in place, his arm pressed awkwardly between them. But as time passed and Kurt seemed in no hurry to move, Dave had bit the bullet, and brought his arm up to rest along the back of the couch, effectively tucking Kurt up against him. It had the effect of looking like one big puppy-pile, but Dave was very aware of the differences in those pressed against him. 

Dave was also very aware that Sebastian was laughing at him. A reckless part of him, the same part that had fought his silence and lashed out the day before, had decided that it didn’t matter, as long as Kurt stayed right where he was. And Dave didn’t know what that part of his brain had on the other parts, but they stayed silent. 

Sebastian was elected to switch the disks out, and he put on _Thor,_ because he said that there was “eye candy for everyone, but mostly Tom Hiddleston.” 

“Mmm,” Kurt murmured. “Chris Hemsworth.” At Dave’s look, Kurt said, “I have a thing for big arms. So what?” 

Santana snorted, and Brittany added, helpfully, “Dave’s got big arms.” 

“Cubby’s big all over,” Sebastian said, grabbing another cookie with a leer. 

Dave snorted. “Don’t say that like you know.” 

“I’ve seen enough.” 

“You’ve seen nothing,” Dave said. He wanted to make it _very_ clear that, when it came to him, Sebastian was all talk, even though he was aware that he was probably protesting too much. Next to him, Kurt was very carefully inspecting his nails. 

Santana scoffed. “That’s because you’re a prude. I’ve seen more of you naked than any boy, and that’s just sad.” 

Dave blinked. “When did you--oh, the fitting.” He rolled his eyes. He had almost successfully blocked the entirely of Prom from his memory. He kept a few things: that first glow of triumph when he was crowned king; the way he and Santana, just for a little bit, were able to let go and dance and have fun; the feel of Kurt’s arm tucked into his: “That doesn’t count. And I’m not a prude, I mean--I _am_ a Jock. Locker room showers kinda don’t leave much room for modesty.” 

“Fine,” Santana said. “Than I’ve seen more of you naked than any boy who would be interested in seeing you naked.” 

“And that’s an awkward line to enter on,” Helen said from the doorway. Dave blushed so hard it _hurt,_ and he sputtered, trying to think of a good response. But, of course, Helen just laughed at him, coming into the room. Julia was behind her, almost as red as Dave felt, but giggling. “Surprise party?” Helen asked, dryly. 

“We’re good at that,” Kurt said. “Hi, I’m Kurt.” 

Dave didn’t trust the way Helen’s eyes lit up. It was entirely possible that Dave had mentioned Kurt’s name a bit too much and a bit too eagerly the night before. It’s funny how he thought he’d be good at hiding his feelings until he actually had them. Dave rolled his eyes, but made the introductions at Kurt’s prompting. Helen’s eyes lingered on Santana, and the look she gave Sebastian was a bit worrying. Helen and Julia didn’t stay long, Julia just long enough to check on Heather, before they retreated to join Paul and Cliff in the other room. 

Kurt began to nod off halfway through the movie, listing further into Dave’s side, so that by the time Thor proved his worth and returned to Asgard, Kurt was well and truly asleep with his head on Dave’s shoulder. It was as good an excuse as any to lower his arm from the back of the couch, to wrap it around Kurt’s waist. 

“It’d be cute if it wasn’t so pathetic,” Santana muttered as Sebastian stood to change the movie again. Disk One of _The Fellowship of the Rings,_ this time. 

“Shut up,” Dave said. He was tired of people making comments about the whole _thing_ with Kurt. _Yes,_ he liked Kurt. _Yes,_ they were friends. _Yes,_ Dave would jump at the chance for more. _Yes,_ he was obvious about it. _Yes,_ having Kurt snuggled up against him might just be the best thing he had ever felt, and _yes_ he was having a hard time keeping things in perspective because he wanted to _hope_ but couldn’t quite make himself trust it. But it was _also_ nobody else’s business but theirs, and people just needed to _leave it the fuck alone,_ because it was probably never going to happen and couldn’t they see that it _hurt?_

Some of that must have been present in his voice or face, because Santana left it at that, reaching up to squeeze Dave’s fingers after a moment. 

The doorbell rang as the Nazgul attacked in Bree, and Dave looked over, incredulous. Who else was going to show up? 

But it wasn’t one of Dave’s friends. It was the pizza man, with a stack of Pizza and breadsticks, and Paul brought it into the kitchen, telling them that dinner was ready. Dave was under too many people to pause the movie, so once again Sebastian was in charge of the television, as the others unfolded themselves from the couch. Brittany rolled off their laps, and pulled Santana to her feet; they turned their backs as Dave gently shook Kurt awake. 

Kurt awoke with a sharply drawn breath and bleary eyes that looked around in a dreamy haze before he saw Dave. Kurt smiled, slow and warm, then seemed to wake up all at once, realization dawning in his eyes, and the back of his neck pinked. 

“Oh, I fell asleep, didn’t I?” Kurt asked, voice soft and breathy. He was close enough that Dave could feel it on his neck and he fought a shiver. “I’m sorry, I--”

“It’s okay,” Dave said, just as quiet. “I mean, you’ve been up since, well, yesterday, right?” 

“Right,” Kurt said, and made a face as he tried, and failed to stifle another yawn. And God help him, Dave thought it was adorable. 

“You want some Pizza? We have some Coke left, or I can make some coffee.” 

Kurt nodded. “Sure. Food, sugar, and caffeine. Sounds good.” Kurt smiled. Dave stood and pulled Kurt to his feet. That reckless voice was back in Dave’s mind, and before he could think about it too much, he led Kurt into the kitchen with a hand pressed to the small of Kurt’s back. It felt good. Natural. 

Then again, after everything, maybe Dave could allow himself to feel hopeful. 

***

After dinner (and Dave _never_ wanted Helen, Santana, and Sebastian in the same room ever again, especially not after they both called him _Cubby._ The grin on Helen’s face was way too gleeful for any good to come of it), Sebastian said his goodbyes, the official reason being that he didn’t want to be out late on the roads, but Dave was pretty sure he was on his way home only to change before going back out again. 

Instead of putting the movie back on, Dave turned on the television, surrendering control of the remote to Santana with as much grace as he could muster. Santana flipped through the channels aimlessly, pausing on an ad for Absolut Vodka. 

Kurt perked up. “Is this what I think it is?” 

“What?” Dave asked. 

_“RuPaul’s Drag Race,”_ Santana said. “It’s a reality show for Drag Queens. Season 3 marathon.” 

Kurt clapped his hands, excitedly. “Manila Luzon!” 

“Drag Queens?” Dave asked, dubiously. 

“I know,” Santana said. “Trust me. It’s hilarious.” 

“Okay...” Dave said. He was only mildly disturbed by the rapt attention Santana and Kurt payed to the screen when the pink and black title screen ushered the show back on. 

It was--different. Funnier than Dave had expected, and surprisingly raunchy. It was obvious they didn’t take themselves as seriously as, like, the Top Model people (his mom had gone through a phase. He didn’t watch it. Sheesh, he wasn’t _that_ gay), but that it was a real competition with a real purpose. It was campy and brightly colored and Dave was going to have the theme song stuck in his head for days. _Great._

Santana and Brittany were the next to go, making their exit around nine. Kurt lasted until nine thirty, when he finally admitted defeat, and that he needed to go home and sleep. Dave walked Kurt out to his car, getting a promise of a text to let Dave know Kurt got home safely. 

Dave watched Kurt drive off before he drifted slowly back inside. Having everyone over had been a great distraction--unexpected but great nonetheless--and now that they were gone, the fact that his mother _still hadn’t called_ sat like a rock in the pit of his stomach. 

Locking the door behind him, Dave poked his head into the den. The CSI Marathon was still going strong, though Cliff was the only one still watching. Helen and Paul were talking in low voices, and Julia had gone upstairs to put Heather to bed. After a moment, when it was obvious nobody was going to speak to Dave right away, he made his way up to his room. Heather seemed to be settling down peacefully, for once, and Dave passed by without getting press-ganged into service. 

Dave pushed open his door, suddenly remembering how long Sebastian had been missing before he had joined them after his shower. But there was nothing obviously moved, not even when Dave opened his closet door and peeked inside. It didn’t mean Sebastian hadn’t snooped, it just meant that Dave had no proof. And with no proof, Dave had to force himself to stop, take a deep breath, and try not to worry. 

Laying on his bed, Dave pulled his phone from his pocket, resting it on his sternum. He folded his hands behind his head and waited for Kurt to text him as he tried to slow his breathing and keep himself calm. But it was hard to keep himself from getting anxious, even though he knew that his anxiety was not even a full step away from anger, and anger led to fits and broken knuckles and he didn’t need that on top of everything else. It was a good enough incentive that, when Kurt finally texted that he was _home and safe and sleeping, goodnight!,_ Dave startled enough to knock the phone from his chest. 

A little knot, one of many, unraveled in his chest, and Dave calmed enough to change into his pajamas. He had just pulled the soft flannel up when he heard the landline ring. 

Nobody called the landline--not even telemarketers. And Dave knew, and he didn’t know how he knew, but there was a feeling that he couldn’t ignore, that it was his Mom. 

The phone stopped ringing. It wasn’t enough for it to go to the answering machine. Someone picked it up. Probably Paul. Well, it had to be Paul, nobody else would have picked up the phone. Dave was out his door and down the steps before he really thought about it. Helen was standing at the door to the kitchen, obviously eavesdropping, and Dave joined her. She smiled at him, reaching her arm out and pulling him into a half-hug. 

Paul was speaking too softly for Dave to make it out. Or maybe, Dave was too nervous to actually listen, and the words were turning to ash in his ears. Because Helen sure seemed to know what was going on, if the way her arm tightened around Dave’s shoulders was any indication. 

Hanging up the phone at last, Paul stood facing away, hands braced against the counter, head down as he breathed in big breaths that lifted and settled his shoulders. When he turned, he didn’t seem surprised to see Dave and Helen there, but he didn’t seem happy about it either. But he pointed to the table, and Dave and Helen sat as Paul went to the ‘fridge. 

When Paul came back, he had three bottles of beer in his hands. He opened them with a flick of his wrist and his wedding ring, and wasn’t that symbolic, and placed one in front of Dave and Helen before drinking from his own and sitting down. Dave looked at the drink with suspicion. Was this a trap? 

Paul gestured at Dave’s bottle with the neck of his own. “Go on,” Paul said. “This is the kind of conversation that deserves a drink, and damnit, you’re old enough to have a drink at home, when I say you can.” 

Dave nodded and picked up the bottle. He didn’t drink from it yet, and as much as Dave privately agreed that he could use a drink, there was a difference between having permission, and being comfortable. 

“So as you probably guessed, that was your mother,” Paul began. “She said she’s sorry for how things happened and that she wants to come home.” 

Now, Dave did drink. It had been what he hoped to hear all day, and yet--

“ _How_ things happened?” Dave asked, all of his nerves sparking, and that reckless place quickened with righteous anger. “Not _that_ it happened?” 

Paul sighed. “Your mother loves you, Dave--” 

“Mom doesn’t know me!” Dave snapped. “When was the last time she came to one of my games? Or even _knew what sport I was playing?_ She has no idea what I like to do with my life--she still calls me Davey, Dad.” Dave drank; his mouth felt dry. “She loves the image of me that she’s built up in her head, and the first time that challenged that image? She freaked!” 

“David!” Paul snapped, and Dave looked away, fingers tightening on the bottle. He drank some more, mostly for something to do as Paul rubbed his hand over his face. 

“Your mother,” Paul said, slow and measured, “Said she wants to come home. I made it clear to her that _that_ meant the three of us living here as a family. So, we’re going to try. She’ll be home tomorrow afternoon.” 

Dave felt a sharp pain in his temple and realized he was clenching his teeth. He forced himself to open his mouth, and nodded. He stood. “I”m gonna go to my room,” He said, and left the kitchen. He stopped, however, when Helen snorted, and said: 

“Course she’ll be home tomorrow afternoon. After everyone who’ll call her on her bullshit leave.” 

Dave stopped, leaned against the wall, and listened. He could just see their reflections in the screen of the television. He hoped they didn’t look there: he had a feeling that he needed to hear this, however much he didn’t really want to, or how unwilling they were to talk in front of him.

Paul pinched the bridge of his nose. “Helen--” 

“No,” Helen said, holding up her hand. “I’ve kept my peace, Paul, but this--I told you over twenty years ago what I thought about her, and I’ve kept my peace because you seem happy, but that woman has been running rampant for years.” 

“She’s my wife, Helen,” Paul said, voice steely. “And Dave’s mom.” 

“And she’s done such a wonderful job of that.” Helen said. 

Paul turned white, then red, and Helen cut him off, saying, “You’re a better parent to Dave than she is, and it’s been that way for years. Open your eyes!” Helen sighed when Paul looked away. “Did I ever tell you _why_ I don’t like her?” 

“You said he just rubbed you the wrong way.” 

“Yeah,” Helen said. “She rubbed me the wrong way after she told me I had done well for myself, _considering._ When I asked, _considering what?_ she said, _considering that I dress like a dyke._ And when I said _excuse me,_ she had no idea what she said was wrong. I’ve heard her talk in casually homophobic, racist, sexist, and anti-semitic terms on _more than one occasion._ It’s never been much to call her on, not until yesterday, but this is not unprecedented. And Dave? Dave is a smart cookie. He’s observant. _He knows what she’s like._ No wonder the kid had so many issues.” Helen ducked her head, trying to look at Paul’s face. “And you can’t deny it, can you.” 

“This is my family, Helen,” Paul said quietly. Helen sighed, reached out and grabbed Paul’s arm. 

“I know, honey,” she said. “I know.” 

Dave tightened his fingers on the bottle, very deliberately didn’t throw it across the room, and went up to his room. 

***

Dave didn’t sleep well, and was up early with the itch to do something. Julia was the next one up, rising with Heather, and they found Dave rolling out cinnamon roll dough. Julia started making coffee, and soon the aromas woke the rest of the house, bringing them down to the kitchen. 

Breakfast was bittersweet. Just in time to leave, Heather had finally adjusted to being in a new place, and was extremely charming over breakfast, laughing and smiling as she stuffed her face with tiny bits of cinnamon rolls. But, now that the prep-work had finished, Dave found himself at loose ends, his appetite small, and try as he might, he couldn’t really focus on the remaining time with his family. 

Julia, Cliff, and Heather left soon after breakfast. Cliff’s leave was over at 3, and Julia wanted to get home with the baby a.s.a.p. Helen’s flight was 5, and Paul had planned to drive her to the airport at noon. Helen waved him off and called a taxi. “There’s no way I’m letting you leave Dave here _alone_ when your _wife_ shows up. I’m a big girl, I can handle a taxi.” 

Helen squeezed him tight, made him promise to keep in touch about a visit, and let him know that if he ever needed to talk, she would listen. Dave thanked her, and she left in a controlled whirlwind that Dave already missed. 

Paul sat on the couch and Dave dropped down next to him. He tried not to feel like he was waiting, but the truth was that he was waiting, and the feeling permeated _everything._

Dave sent a text to Kurt, but he must have still been sleeping off Black Friday, because there was no return text. He tried Santana next, and she informed him in way too explicit terms that Brittany’s parents were out and that she was _not to be disturbed._

_Gross._

Dave considered calling Az, but didn’t. He thought about playing _Call of Duty,_ to see if Az would play with him, but he didn’t. He thought about putting on a movie, or checking Facebook, or even leaving and dealing with it later. But he didn’t. 

Just when Dave had finally resolved to grab his pads and go practice at the rink (or at least go train in the school gym), he heard the garage door open. 

Maria was home.


	6. Gotta Knock a Little Harder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Break down the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this isn't a pretty chapter. homophobic language/actions, mentions of trans-phobia—probably the most angst-heavy chapter of the bunch. So, the good news is that it's all uphill from here. :)
> 
> Thanks to proxydialogue and raving_liberal for the betas, and LOOK AT THE WONDERFUL BANNER RAV MADE ME!! it's so pretty!

Maria came in through the garage, pulling her rolling suitcase behind her. It was a smaller bag, the carry-on size of a matched set, and Dave knew that she had never meant to be gone for very long. He clenched his jaw, not sure whether that meant she wanted to come around, or was too sure in her ability to change him. That the latter seemed more likely made Dave clench his fists, and he forced himself to stay seated, stay calm. 

“Paul,” she said. “Davey—Dave.” Maria stood tall, nearly cold, but there was something—uneasiness, maybe—Dave didn’t know what, exactly, it was and it bothered him, that unnamed emotion; He was sure it wasn’t contrition. Paul, however, seemed unconcerned. He stood and took her bag, kissed her cheek and whispered something in her ear. Paul brought her bag upstairs, leaving Maria and Dave in the living room. 

Dave didn’t stand, didn’t smile. He saw his mother notice, register the slight, and that little emotion grew on her face. 

_Anger,_ Dave thought. _She’s angry._ Dave frowned. _What right does she have to be angry?_

“Well,” Maria said at last. “Looks like none of us are happy with this.” 

Dave showed his teeth. “Oh, I’m happy,” Dave said. “I’m just having a _gay_ old time.” 

Maria flinched, turned it into a mild sneer. “I wish you wouldn’t use such language.” 

Dave scoffed. _“Such language?”_

“I just—” Maria frowned. She drew herself up; Dave nearly laughed. She was not going to _pretend_ she had the moral _high ground_ here—“Do you have to be so in my face about it?”

“What, _this?_ ” Dave asked, standing and gesturing at himself. “This is in your face?” He laughed, bitter. “This is nothing.” Dave spread his hands. “I’m no different today than I was last week.” 

“Last weekend I didn’t—” Maria cut herself off, jaw clenching. Dave 

“Didn’t what? Didn’t _know?_ ” Dave barked out a bitter laugh. “You haven’t known me for years, and _now_ it’s a problem?” Dave stepped forward, slowly closing the distance between them. “Well guess what, Mom. Right now? I don’t want you to.” Dave stopped and pointed his finger at her, stopping just short of her neck. It wasn’t the first time he noticed how much taller he was, but it was the first time he used that to his advantage. “You say you want to come back? Fine. Prove it.” 

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Maria spat, not giving an inch. 

“No,” Dave said. “I wouldn’t dare. Go against what you _think_ should be true? Never.” 

Maria’s eyes flared and she sucked in a breath. “What’s that suppos—”

“Nothing.” Dave raised his hands, backing away. “You know what? Nevermind. I graduate in June, and then I’ll be gone for college. If you don’t want to, you’ll never have to see me again. So you stay out of my way and I’ll stay out of yours. That way we’ll both be _happy,_ right?” 

Dave heard Paul coming down the stairs, and made his exit. He grabbed his keys and his hockey gear on the way out the door; the rink would be open for a little while longer. 

If she wanted to be his mom again, she’d have to earn it—and as much as Dave wanted her back, he was _not_ going to make it easy. 

***

Dave got less than an hour at the rink, after everything, and while it had helped, and he felt less like he was about to burst at the seams, he was still hyped up and restless. He ended up driving around town, turning at random, and had to stop himself from turning down Kurt’s street. He parked his truck at the corner and rested his forehead on the wheel. 

He knew that if he showed up at Kurt’s house uninvited, Kurt would only need to take one look at him to know what was wrong. Kurt would invite him in, and Dave would talk out his feelings, and Kurt would smile at him and hug him and say something perfectly designed to make Dave feel better, and he would, and he would eventually go home mentally prepared to deal with his family. 

Dave also knew that Kurt wouldn’t mind, that he _wanted_ Dave to do exactly that. Or, at least, call him if he needed to talk. 

And Dave really wanted to call, to have someone say just the right thing and make it all go away. 

But—

But Kurt had already done so much. He had been there for Dave when Dave needed him, and just knowing that Kurt would _continue_ to be there was enough to let Dave straighten in his seat and put his truck back into gear. 

The rink _had_ helped, and Dave didn’t want to rely too heavily on Kurt, lest it became Dave’s _only_ way of coping. It wasn’t fair to place all of that on Kurt—it wasn’t fair to either of them. So this time, Dave would deal with it himself. He would have to learn how sooner or later, and the earlier he began the better. 

And just in case Dave was right in hoping that _someday, maybe_ Kurt might agree to go out with him, Dave wanted to do so, if not on equal footing, at least standing on his own two feet. 

***

Dave didn’t see anybody when he returned, but the cars were there, so they were home, at least. Dave dealt with his gear and showered, puttering around his room after with his towel wrapped around his waist as he dried the rest of the way. He didn’t do it often, but sometimes he just couldn't be bothered to fight with dry clothes on damp skin. 

That and, well, he’d been so _compressed_ the last few days, it felt freeing, in a way. 

Dave sat at his computer and checked his email. There were a couple forwards from his father, notifications from Facebook, spam from NHL.com. Dave read the forwards, shaking his head over his dad’s corny sense of humor, deleted the Farmville requests from Facebook—seriously, who played Farmville anymore—spent a few minutes looking over his friend’s walls, and deleted the spam. 

There didn’t seem to be much happening. Kurt was apparently photo-cataloguing his closet, judging by the series of photos Mercedes was posting under the title: _Ohio’s Next Top Model._ Most of the shots were obviously vamped up, Kurt posing at funky angles with ridiculous “model” faces. 

But there was one, posted as Dave was sitting there, which meant this was happening now, that had caught Kurt mid-laugh. Kurt was dressed simply—well, simply for Kurt—in what David had noticed had become a staple look: a blue button down with just enough of a twist in the cut to make it _fashion_ , opened at the neck just enough to show a hint of collar bone, with a simple storm grey vest and dark washed skinny-jeans. True, at school, Kurt usually wore a tie of some sort, and the view of Kurt’s neck was—distracting, but Dave was focused more on where the blue of the shirt caught the color of Kurt’s eyes. There was a flush to Kurt’s cheeks from the laughter, and his smile just—

Dave found it hard to breathe. 

He saved the picture to his hard drive before he could really think about it, and when he realized he was refreshing the page, just waiting for the next photo, Dave forced himself to stand, close his computer, and dress. 

Before Dave ventured from his room, he opened his computer and made the photograph his wallpaper. Before he was halfway down the stairs, he turned back and changed it back. It was just a little too creeper for him. 

It didn’t stop him from leaving the image open on his desktop. Dave wasn’t proud—just not a creeper. 

***

Dinner that night was the first one where things were “back to normal.” Paul cooked, something he didn’t do often, usually only when treating Maria for her birthday or another special occasion. Dave wasn’t sure why Paul was—fuck— _celebrating_ this. Couldn’t he see? She wasn’t home to make _amends,_ she was home because _otherwise people would talk._

But Paul just went on, serving dinner and smiling at them, just _so happy_ to have everyone back together again, that Dave swallowed his anger with his chicken and kept his eyes on his plate. 

Sunday passed with only a minor blip, when Maria asked why Dave wasn’t leaving for his therapy. Paul’s answer, that _Dave feels he’s gone as far as he can with Dr. Banks. We’ll look for another after the holidays,_ caused the mask to slip. Paul didn’t see it, looking instead at the dishes he was washing, but Dave saw, and raised a smug eyebrow, challenging. 

_You’ll have to do better than that._

It was worth it to see Maria struggle to change her scowl to a smile when Paul turned to face her. 

Dave met Kurt at the Lima Bean later that night, officially to discuss the GSA, but when Kurt dropped into the seat across from Dave, he looked giddy as he pointed his latte at Dave and said: “I have got _news,_ ” 

“What?” Dave asked around a mouthful of brownie. “That McQueen guy on Overstock again?” 

Kurt paused, grinning suddenly. “You remembered his name.” 

“Was familiar.” Dave sipped his coffee, shrugging. “But the only McQueen I really care about is Steve. That dude’s badass.” Dave waggled his eyebrows. “Hot, too.” 

Kurt snorted. “You’re attraction to older men is adorable, Dave.” 

Dave grinned, cheeky. “I got a thing for blue eyes,” he said. “And he had some killer blue eyes.” _Like you,_ Dave didn’t say. Kurt blushed, like maybe he heard it anyway, but he flapped his hand. 

“You’re distracting me,” Kurt said. “I have gossip!” He leaned in. “Finn broke up with Rachel.” 

“What?” Dave said. “Kurt they do that _all the time._ ” 

“Yeah, but this was different,” Kurt said. “Usually, when it happens, it’s because of some fight they had, and Finn comes home pissed off and throwing things and then calms down and gets all mopey and then they kiss on stage and ruin Nationals.” Dave frowned at that, but Kurt went on, “But this time he just came home, calm and kinda happy, and when I asked him why he was whistling he said ‘no reason,’ and then, like, five minutes later, is all ‘oh, yeah. I broke up with Rachel.’” Kurt threw up his hands. “He’s not upset. I think he means it this time.” 

Dave blinked. “That’s...good?” 

“Well,” Kurt slumped a little. “I fear backlash, to be honest. Rachel is going to be insufferable until she either gets him back or gets over him—or she leaves for college. And honestly, I feel college will come first.” 

Not for the first time, Dave was glad to be free from the glee club drama. “I thought she was your friend.” 

Kurt sighed and stole a piece of Dave’s brownie. “She is,” he said, finally. “But someone can be your friend and you can still find them annoying.” He paused. “Like Sebastian.” 

“I dunno,” Dave said. “He’s starting to grow on me.” 

“Like a fungus,” Kurt muttered. “Seriously. Between those _clothes_ and that _name,_ he’s, like, the villain in an ‘80s teen movie, one where the group of ‘strange kids’ beat the ‘popular kids’ and win the hearts of millions.” 

Dave snapped his fingers. “I’ve seen that one! It’s got the guy, who’s on that show now.” 

“Exactly,” Kurt said, fighting a smile. “And it had that actress who was in, like, everything, and now all they talk about is her botched boob job.” 

“And the nerd friend ended up the hottest one of the bunch.” 

Kurt grinned. “You are well versed in ‘80s movies’ tropes.” 

Dave shrugged. “VH1.” 

Kurt laughed, then sighed. “Still, what if he relapses? I really don’t want Rachel as a sister-in-law.” 

“Sister-in-law?” Dave asked. Marriage was—no. Just—just, no. “Isn’t that a little, like, early?” 

“I know,” Kurt said. “But—it sounds like something they’d do, doesn’t it?” 

Dave thought for a minute. He shrugged. “I dunno.” He grinned, _heh._ “Maybe now Puckerman’ll make his move.” 

“No,” Kurt said, shaking his head. “I don’t think so. I mean, can you see Puck and Rachel together? Again?” 

Did Kurt really not see what Dave saw? “You know,” Dave said. “I find it kinda funny that you automatically assume I was talking about Rachel.” 

Kurt looked blank for a moment. “You—Puck and _Finn?_ But they’re not gay.” 

Dave shrugged. “Puck is—omnisexual, I’m pretty damn sure. You ever notice how he plays the pronoun game at meetings?” Kurt still looked like he was going to protest, and Dave went on. “And you’ve seen Puck and Finn together. Trust me, no straight guy gets that close to his bros, no matter how secure he is, not unless he wants a piece.” 

“But—Finn—” Kurt shook his head. “He’s my brother now, and I love him that way, and I’d never want that to change, but that was only possible because Finn was _so very straight._ I mean, when he first moved in, he freaked out.” 

“Right,” Dave said, flat. “Because no gay guy has ever acted like a homophobe.” Kurt had the grace to look sheepish. He sighed. 

“I’m sorry. You’re right. I just—I think this’d be easier if I hadn’t crushed on him so hard for so long. There’s a definite _why not me,_ feeling, even though I—well, I don’t want _Finn_ anymore.” Kurt scrubbed his hands over his face. “Oh, God,” he groaned. “Okay,” Kurt flattened his hands on the table. “Okay, I’m dealing. I’ve dealt. If Finn and Puck become Pinn, or whatever, I will be supportive and encouraging.” 

“Because you are over Finn,” Dave said. 

“Because I love my _brother_ as a _brother_ and I will always be there for him,” Kurt said. “And honestly, I need more gay friends in my life. Ones that aren’t potential boyfriends.” 

Dave did not ask if that meant Kurt thought of him as a potential boyfriend, even as the thought made his insides jump. Now was not the time, not while Kurt was still fiddling anxiously with his coffee cup. 

Kurt sighed. “I just—Sectionals are only two weeks away. We don’t need this kind of drama right now!” He dropped his head onto his forearm. 

Dave kept it to himself that Glee thrived on this kind of drama, and instead asked, “So has Shue decided on a set list, yet?” 

Kurt groaned. “No!” he said, and raised his head just enough to look up at Dave. “The Warblers decide on a set list _the day after_ they know they’re going to be in competition. Then, they practice, practice, practice. That is why they win,” Kurt said. “We have been coasting on an abundance of natural talent and blind luck. That’s not going to fly for much longer.” 

“Well,” Dave said. “I think you can rock it all the way to New York.” 

Kurt smiled, sitting back. “Thank you, Dave.” 

Dave saluted Kurt with his cup, just to see Kurt laugh. 

***

Dave now had hockey practice after school every day except Tuesday (GSA) and Wednesday (football), and while he still didn’t know what bug was up Cooper’s ass, he was _loving_ his return to the ice. The rest of the team seemed to love it as well, and Dave was pretty sure he had seen the coach nearly in tears at one point after Dave’s run at shooting drills. It was, all in all, a promising start to the season. 

Tuesday, while cleaning up after the GSA meeting, Beiste asked if Dave had decided on a school yet. When Dave replied that he hadn’t finished his applications, Beiste frowned. Dave assured her that he had ample time, the deadlines not being until mid December, but when he got home, he pulled out his half-finished applications, determined to get at least the essays written that night. 

Dave knew that banking on getting into an out of state school before he had sent his applications out was not the wisest of moves. A part of him even felt that, if he really wanted to be gone, it would be done already; that he was self-sabotaging for some reason. The rest of Dave knew that he still had time and, while the applications were time consuming, they weren’t actually difficult. The most stressful aspect was the essay, but Dave was pretty confident about his essays. 

He was applying to five schools, but his top three had pretty much the same essay. Rutgers, in New Jersey, had “Evaluate a significant experience, achievement, risk you have taken, or ethical dilemma you have faced and its impact on you.” Dave thought surviving high school was a “significant experience,” “achievement,” “risk”, and an “ethical dilemma” all in one, but the school wanted specifics, so discussing his past as a bully, particularly his expulsion, satisfied all those requirement. Plus, it gave him the opportunity to talk about his decision to form the GSA and come out himself, which felt like all those layers _again._ Dave truly felt multifaceted. 

NYU wanted him to “Discuss some issue of personal, local, national, or international concern and its importance to you.” Again, bullying, especially of LGBT youth, was a _huge_ topical issue, and one that had “importance” to him. For this essay, he tweaked his first one, focusing more on his education, the Bully Whips, and the GSA

And finally, San Francisco State wanted him to “Indicate a person who has had a significant influence on you, and describe that influence.” This time, his essay was tweaked to talk about Kurt, their transition from bully and bullied to friends. Dave figured that having the kid you bullied be the most significant person in his life was just unique enough to set him apart. 

The only downside to these essays, Dave realized, was that he couldn’t have Kurt look them over. But a quick check confirmed that Sebastian was online, and after a quick message, all three versions were off to Sebastian for editing. 

Dave took a deep breath and let it out slowly. All that was left now was fixing up the edits and attaching them to the applications. He was so close, he just wanted it done, he wanted them off, but there was nothing he could do until Sebastian got back to him, and he had no homework left, so he could just goof off if he wanted, but he couldn’t concentrate on anything long enough to distract himself and—Dave took another deep breath. 

It had been months since Ms. Pillsbury had set up the Postsecret wall. Dave walked by it once a week or so, and the small collection of secrets had steadily grown, if not with any great speed. He hadn’t recognized any of the new secrets posted, and figured they were probably from underclassmen he didn’t know. Dave thought about creating a new postcard, but when he sat down to think about it, there weren’t that many secrets he had left. Honestly, the biggest one was almost not a secret anymore, and the others—well—didn’t seem so secret. He baked. So what? He liked old music. It impressed Kurt. He knows how to dress in tailored clothes. Kurt would be beside himself. 

So. What to write on the card? 

Dave’s email dinged at him; Sebastian had sent back the first essay. He would think about his secret later. It was time to go to work. 

***

Dave ended up not sending in the applications for his top three that night, wanting one more go over before he sent them off. He got home from practice the next day before Paul had returned from work, and if Maria was home, she was ignoring him, which was fine with Dave. Just fine, because he didn’t have the time or energy to deal with her bullshit right now. With all of _this_ —coming out, and _Thanksgiving,_ and that lingering undercurrent of _he’s a bully, watch out! he’s going to snap!_ —it was all the more important that he _get out,_ get _away;_ leave Lima, and the fear, and all the bullshit behind. And that meant he had to get these applications out, which meant he had to focus. He shut the door to his room, pulled up his iTunes for his “thinking” playlist—a collection of instrumental tracks cherry-picked from various movie soundtracks—and got to work. 

Thirty minutes later, Dave clicked send on the third application and sat back. That was it. His top three schools. He had officially applied to college. He closed his computer, grabbed his phone, and fairly threw himself onto his bed. He opened a new message to Kurt. 

_just sent in the last application. let the waiting commence._

He hit send and let his arm fall over his head. He knew Kurt was headed for New York, and wondered if his own desire for an East Coast school had been influenced by the way Kurt would talk about the city. He had to admit, it sounded nice. Dave just wasn’t sure he was the city type. His phone beeped. 

_Huzzah! Where did you apply?_

_all over. not ohio. east coast. west coast._

The next text came so quickly, Kurt must have been waiting. 

_I don’t know what I want you to get more: East Coast to be closer, or West Coast so I have an excuse to visit._

Dave had to admit, the image of being in California, in _San Francisco,_ showing Kurt around was a pleasant one. Then again, so was imagining being able to see Kurt everyday if he so chose. 

_;) i c how it is. using me for my address._

_0:D_

Dave snorted, but before he could reply, he got a new message. It was from Paul. _I don’t want to yell. Come eat dinner._

Dave shook his head. _Lazy._ He texted a _l8r_ to Kurt and went downstairs, feeling good enough about his accomplishments that he barely registered that Paul was a bit chillier than the night before. 

***

By Friday, Paul no longer seemed to have his head in the sand when it came to Maria. Dave spent more and more time at the rink, or the Lima Bean, or even one afternoon at Santana’s just to stay away from the growing tension in the house. The increase in hostility carried with it both anxiety and familiarity, and Dave was forced to admit, to himself at least, that his home hadn’t been a happy one, not for a long time. Longer than his own problems. It was that fact, and only that fact, that kept Dave from thinking this was entirely his fault. 

He had no illusions that one, or maybe both, of his parents wouldn’t use _him,_ or at least Maria’s reaction to him, as an excuse to do something they wanted to do in the first place. As Paul’s reaction to Maria grew terse, and Maria’s perfect smiles began to falter, Dave wondered if his parents were going to be _his parents_ for much longer. 

He didn’t want to think about it. 

The stalemate lasted all weekend, through Dave’s practices, the weekend split between the Hudmels’ house and Scandals, GSA and Dave’s decision on a new therapist, and booking of his first appointment (second week in January). Then, Wednesday, Dave came home to raised voices and the shattering of a coffee mug. It was like a summer thunderstorm that came with the promise of breaking the heat, but only succeeding in raising the humidity and making the air unbreathable. They weren’t arguing about him, except for all the ways in which they were, and Dave chose to walk away. He had dinner that night with his grandparents, and the next day, it was as if the fight never happened. 

Until it happened again. And didn’t stop happening. 

Friday, Maria packed her suitcase and spent the night at that same motel. She was back Saturday morning. The fighting started again Saturday night, and on Sunday, Dave got involved. 

They were screaming again, like they had before, but it was worse now, because now they were screaming about him; it was like Thanksgiving dinner stuck on repeat, a track that skipped. 

Did they think he couldn’t hear them? Or did they just not care? 

Dave opened his bedroom door, the shouting that much louder, and walked down the stairs. His parents were in the foyer, and Dave stood at the railing and looking down at them. Paul looked thunderous, face red, and Dave thought he saw a vein bulging at his temple. Maria wasn’t nearly as flushed, but some awful emotion had twisted her features and she looked like some Hollywood witch. 

“He is your son!” Paul yelled, flinging a hand towards Dave, but he didn’t look away from Maria. Dave didn’t think they knew he was watching.

“Not like this!” Maria said. “ _My_ son isn’t—” She cut herself off, breathing heavily through her nose. 

Paul’s face darkened further. “Isn't what, Maria?” 

“Isn’t a _freak,_ ” she said, low and terrible. 

Paul opened his mouth to yell; he seemed to swell, to loom, but before he could, Dave stepped in. 

“Wow, Mom,” Dave called down, forced calm. He felt like he would fly into a thousand pieces if he gave an inch; he knew with sickening clarity that it was _tonight,_ that the future rested on the outcome of this night. “Why don’t you tell me how you really feel?” 

Both Paul and Maria turned to him, as if surprised to see him there. “David,” Maria said, surprised and already slipping back into her pretense of a caring mother, but she was too exposed, and quickly stopped trying. She stood still, watching Dave and letting it all show on her face. 

Dave started walking towards the stairs, keeping his eyes on her. He saw the struggle and decision to stop trying, and his breath hitched as he realized she just gave up being his mother. He wanted to look at Paul, to see if he saw it happen too, but he couldn’t look away; she would strike if he did. 

And Dave was angry; it rose suddenly, choking him, and his vision seemed to grey at the edges. He stopped, gripping the railing tight. He wanted to rip it free, tear it to pieces, run down the stairs, or just jump over the railing. He was so tight, he felt like he could, too, like his rage would give him the strength. 

“Well?” Dave gritted out. “What do you have to say?” 

“Go back to your room, David,” Maria said, voice cold. “This doesn’t concern you.” 

“Hell it doesn’t,” Dave said. “I know you were talking about me; you’re not exactly subtle.” 

“David—”

“If you have a problem with me, say it to my face,” Dave spat. 

“Paul!” Maria snapped. “Control your son.” 

Dave risked a glance, then. Paul was looking at Maria with such sadness. Dave tightened his hands, and heard the wood creak. When Paul didn’t answer, Maria looked at him, and Paul said softly, “He’s your son, too.” 

Maria reared back as if slapped. “Paul,” Maria said. “You’re supposed to be on _my side—_ ” 

“There shouldn’t be any sides,” Paul said. “We’re a family—”

“I can’t—” Maria cut herself off, and Dave growled low in the back of his throat. 

_“Say it,”_ he snapped. Maria looked up at him, dark, and it all spilled out of Dave, everything he had absorbed in the past weeks, months, years. “Say it so I can hear it. You can’t have a gay son. You can’t go to your precious clubs if your son’s a _fag,_ what would they think—what would they say? They might think you _encouraged such behavior._ They might wonder what you did to end up with a _cocksucker—_ ” 

“David!” Paul snapped. Dave bit his lip, rocking back and forth, feeling the railing swaying under his hands, just a little, and he wondered, fleeting, what it would feel like to fall. 

“Don’t bother,” Maria said. “I can see how it is. The two of you conspiring against me.” Maria shook her head. “I can’t believe you’re condoning that _perversion._ He’s supposed to be your son; you’re supposed to make a man out of him! Am I the only one who sees that?” 

“Oh, come on!” 

“He is a man,” Paul said. “He’s more of a man now than I was at his age, and I’m proud of that.” Dave felt a spark of joy at that, but it was dim, drowned by the brightness of his anger. 

Maria shook her head, taking a step back. “You’re just as bad,” she said. “I don’t know where it all went wrong, but you are not the man I married.” Maria headed for the stairs. 

“Maria!” Paul called. “You can’t just walk away from this!” 

“Watch me!” Maria yelled over her shoulder. Dave moved, met her at the top of the stairs, blocking her way.

“Move,” she said, voice low. Dave shook his head. “Get out of my way, you fat faggot.” 

Dave doesn’t remember moving, but his hands were wrapped in his mother’s sweater as he held her fast against the wall and he’s panting, teeth grit closed and there was a muscle twitching pain in his jaw and he could barely see, and Paul was shouting and pounding up the stairs, and Maria was shouting in his ear, and Paul was there, wrapping an arm around Dave’s shoulders from behind, pulling him back and Dave let go. He let go and Maria was gone, scrambling away, and Paul wasn’t shouting anymore, he was calling Dave’s name, but Dave sunk down, pulling Paul with him. Maria stepped over them, small suitcase in hand, sweater pulled aside and face white, and was gone out the door. 

Dave gasped, struggled for breath he couldn't catch, rage turned to ash and grief, and Paul held on as Dave cried. 

***

Dave didn’t go to school the next day. Paul called them both out, and they sat on the couch watching old reruns of _The Price is Right_ and _Family Feud_ on GSN. Kurt texted Dave during second period, asking if he was okay. Dave responded with a simple _“no.”_ Dave wasn’t surprised when his phone rang a few minutes later. 

“Hey, Kurt,” Dave said. Paul glanced over with a raised eyebrow, looked at his empty glass, and heaved himself up and went to the kitchen. 

_“What’s wrong?”_

“Fight with Mom last night,” Dave said. “She left again.” 

_“Oh, Dave. I’m sorry.”_ Kurt’s voice echoed strangely, and Dave realized he must have excused himself to the bathroom to call him back. Dave thought about feeling guilty, but really couldn’t bring himself to give a fuck. 

“She’s gone,” Dave said. “I—Kurt, I don’t think she’s coming back this time.” 

_“What happened?”_

“Before or after I threw her against the wall?” Dave bit out, and had to stop because he could feel his throat closing and the pounding behind his eyes, and Kurt was silent on the phone. Dave swallowed. “Kurt—”

“I have to go, Dave. I’ll talk to you soon.” 

“Kurt—!” But Dave’s phone beeped, the call ended. Dave tried to call him back, but the phone just rang through to his voicemail. _“Fuck!”_ Dave threw his phone and it bounced across the carpet, skittering to a stop at Paul’s feet. Dave looked up at Paul, at the blank expression on his face, and hung his head, covering his eyes with his palms. 

Paul sat back down. “Dave—”

“Don’t.” 

And Paul didn’t. On TV, Bob Barker coaxed a red-headed ‘70s housewife through another round of prizes as she screamed and cried. The show entered its last commercial break, the one that lasted forever, and Sarah McLaughlin started singing about crying puppies and Dave sunk into the couch and wished it would swallow him whole. 

The doorbell rang. 

Dave looked at Paul, who shrugged and stood. Dave let his head fall back. It was probably someone going door to door, offering landscaping or some shit. Nobody else would be around at this time of day on a Monday. 

Which is why Dave could only stare when Paul returned, followed by Kurt. Dave stood and Kurt surged forward, hugging Dave tightly. Dave returned the hug, tentative with confusion. 

“What are you doing here?” Dave asked softly. 

“I had a free period,” Kurt said into Dave’s chest. “And then lunch. And I was worried.” 

Dave laughed softly, touched. “You didn’t have to.” 

“I know,” Kurt said. “But you—I kinda did.” 

Dave sighed. “I don’t like that you’re constantly picking up my pieces.” 

Kurt pulled back to look at Dave. “I ran into Santana on my way off campus. She’ll be over after school. I could always leave you to her tender mercies.” 

“Thanks,” Dave said, dryly. The truth was, Santana would probably be good for him right now, not let him wallow too far. Kurt smiled at him. 

“Seriously, I don’t mind being the first responder, as long as I’m not the _only_ responder, you know?” 

Dave nodded and looked around for Paul. He wasn’t where Dave could see, which probably meant he retreated to his office. He pulled Kurt over to the couch, and they sat, Kurt perched on the edge so he could mostly face Dave. He was practically vibrating with the need to _know_ and Dave sighed, and told Kurt about the way his parents lasted twenty-four hours before fighting again, how it had gotten worse, how she had left before and come back, how this time they hadn’t bothered to hide, about what she had said about him, _to_ him, and—

“And she called me—she was _right in my face_ and she called me—I can’t even say it.” Dave chewed his lip. “I’ve used it before, to you, even, and about myself, but—”

“But you don’t feel that way anymore,” Kurt said softly. 

Dave nodded. “It’s just so ugly,” he said. “And I was already so angry, and I snapped, shoved her against the wall. Dad had to pull me away. And then she was gone. It’s never been that bad before, Kurt.” Dave sniffed and Kurt tightened his grip on Dave’s hand. 

“I’m so _sick_ of crying,” Dave snapped. “I feel like I’ve been crying since October. Fucking manly.” 

“Stay away from Puffs with Aloe,” Kurt said. “They’ve saved my nose during many a cold, but the aloe can sting if you wipe your eyes.” Dave looked over and Kurt was looking at him wryly. Dave looked down. 

“Does it end?” 

“Eventually,” Kurt said. “One day you’ll wake up, and the tears will be gone, and you’ll feel human again.” He shrugged. “It takes time, Dave. And sometimes, after the tears have dried, they’re come back like a—an acid flashback.” 

Dave snorted. The idea of Kurt on acid—

“The point is, grief does not last forever. It can’t.” 

“Is that what this is?” Dave asked. “Grief?” 

Kurt shrugged. “You just lost your home, Dave. Even if everything could be put back together, it would never be the same. Of course you’re grieving.” Kurt nudged Dave’s shoulder with his own. “You’ll be okay. Just—don’t go Goth on me, okay? Nobody can pull off black crushed velvet.” 

Dave chuckled. “Deal.” 

Kurt stayed for a little while longer, keeping a running commentary on the 70s fashion on _The Price is Right,_ and left with just enough time to stop at a drive through for lunch before returning to school. Paul came out of his office when Kurt left, and took up his spot once again. 

“I’m not happy,” Paul said into the silence. “She’s still your mother and—” Paul cut himself off. “But I heard what she said to you. And—I don’t blame you. But we’re getting you a new therapist ASAP.” 

Dave nodded. 

Kurt was right; Santana showed up at his door that night, sour and dry, and she bitched about everything. But she made Dave shower _(The fuck is wrong with you, Cubby. You stink. Shower, you fuck, you’re in the presence of a lady),_ and dress _(And you better be wearing pants when I turn around. If I have to see your gay-ass dick, there will be words!),_ and eat _(Don’t make me go all Lima Heights Adjacent on your ass. Eat your pork chop!),_ and when Santana left after making him sit through _Bring It On, (“Really, ‘Tana?” “Fuck you. It’s no better than you deserve, scaring me like that.” “Aww. And the ‘Tana’s heart grew three sizes that day.” “Eat shit.”),_ Dave really did feel better. 

***

GSA the next day was about coming out to your parents. Kurt offered to change the agenda, but Dave wouldn’t let him. He’d need to talk about it sooner or later and, well, start as you mean to go on. 

Kurt talked about telling his Dad, about how Burt had already known and, “He doesn’t really get it, but he loved me and supports me, and in that I’m really lucky.” Santana talked about how she couldn’t tell her parents, not because they wouldn’t be supportive, but that they’d tell her _Abuela,_ and she wouldn’t be, and Santana couldn’t handle losing her. Brittany told them how, when she told her mother she loved Santana, her mother had simply taken it in stride, and then Santana told them how, when she next came over, she learned that Brittany’s mom didn’t really understand what Brittany had been trying to say. Mrs. Pierce had apparently confused “bisexual” with “bicycle.” Dave was pretty sure they now knew where Brittany got it from. 

Then it was Dave’s turn to talk, and he opened his mouth to talk about how supportive his Dad was, or his Grandparents, or how his mother had just exploded, but no words came out. He just—couldn’t. It was too new, too fresh. After a long pause, it was Brett who broke the silence. 

“Sometimes, it’s reversed,” he said, quietly, slow and listing. “And it’s the parents coming out to the kids.” Brett rocked back and forth slowly, more serious than Dave had ever seen him. “A couple years ago, my Dad divorced my Mom because when he told her that he wasn’t a he, she freaked.” 

Dave blinked. Was Brett saying what he thought he was? He looked over; Kurt and Santana looked equally poleaxed. 

“She, Mom-she, called my Dad all sorts of things, and if she was holding back because of me, I don’t want to know what Mom said when I wasn’t around.” Brett shrugged. “I—I said some bad things, too. Things I regret. After the divorce, Dad disappeared. 

“Then one day, I’m at White Castle at 1am, and I hear my name, and it’s Dad, but wearing, like, a dress and shit. And I started crying, right in the middle of White Castle, freaked her out. But she was still Dad, you know?” Brett stopped, smacking his lips like his mouth was dry. “Point is,” Brett said. “Parents and kids: gets complicated. It’s a relationship built on cis-heterosexuality,” Dave watched as Kurt’s eyebrows raised even higher, “that all of a sudden isn’t anymore. And it changes something we all believe is essential to _who we are,_ and humans don’t deal well with change. Not when it comes to family.” Brett looked up, seeming to notice for the first time the way the audience was spellbound, but it was a muted recognition. He stilled. “What?” 

“That might be the longest we’ve ever heard you speak,” Kurt said. 

Brett shrugged, then giggled, rocking once more. After that, Dave realized, looking at Brett as Beiste called an early end to the meeting, Dave’s own drama, while it still _hurt,_ didn’t feel as Earth-shattering. 

***

“So,” Dave said on the phone with Kurt that night. “Brett.” 

_“I know! It’s weird!”_

“Makes sense, though,” Dave said. He tapped his fingers along his sternum and watched the model planes spin above him. Lying flat on his back on his bed had become his default position for talking to Kurt, and as long as he didn’t end up on his stomach kicking his feet in the air, he was fine. “He usually contributes when we’re talking about gender and stuff. Guess that’s why.”

 _“I’m more in awe that he knew and used the terminology, really. He’s usually too stoned to remember his own name, let alone all that.”_

“Maybe that’s why,” Dave said, shrugging. “I’m pretty sure his smoking started around the time his Dad—well.” 

_“Maybe,”_ Kurt said. _“I mean—if Dad came in right now and told me he wanted to live his life as ‘Burtadette’, I’d be freaked. I’d support him, but I’d be a bit weirded out at first.”_

Dave found himself trying to picture Mr. Hummel in one of Mrs. Hummel’s dresses. Then the image shifted to _Paul_ in one of _his Mom’s_ dresses, and he shuddered. “Yeah. Weird.” He just couldn’t get past the beard. 

_“Sectionals are this weekend,”_ Kurt said. _“Rachel, when she’s not plotting the enslavement of my brother, has been driving us all crazy. And Finn’s no help. He spent the weekend at Puck’s and has been in a daze ever since. He’s oblivious to her hysterics! I wish I were that oblivious.”_

“You’re gonna kick ass,” Dave said, soothingly. He refrained from bringing up Pinn ( _though,_ Dave thought, _Puck’d probably prefer “Fuck” as a name_ ), but it was a near thing. 

“I hope so.” Kurt sighed. “You’re gonna be there, right?” 

“Yeah,” Dave said. “I want ringside seats when you pound prep-school into the ground.” 

“Even if that means pounding Sebastian, as well?” 

Dave grinned. “Why Kurt, I had no idea you felt that way about him.” 

Kurt spluttered and Dave laughed. Somewhere along the way, it became okay to tease Kurt about Sebastian. Maybe it was the way they had interacted during the impromptu movie night, their bickering friendly without being flirty. Or maybe it was the fact that Kurt kept giving Dave hope that, if he ever manned up, Kurt would say yes to a date. 

_“Da-vid!”_ Kurt finally said, chastising yet laughing. 

Dave opened his mouth to continue teasing, when Paul knocked on his door. 

“I gotta go, Kurt. I’ll talk to you later.” 

_“Okay. Night, Dave.”_

“Night,” Dave hung up the phone. “Yeah, Dad?” he called. 

Paul opened the door. He looked tired, older than Dave had ever seen him. Even his hair seemed more white than grey, and Dave frowned. “What happened now?” 

“I heard from your mother,” Paul said, sitting on the bed next to Dave. “She, ah—she’s made it clear that she’s not coming back.” 

Dave looked away, fisting his hands. It was nothing that he hadn’t expected. It was _better_ this way; he wouldn’t have to deal with her _shit_ —it hurt _so much_ to hear it confirmed. Paul was still talking. 

“She works fast; there were papers delivered to my office today. Divorce papers.” Paul shook his head, bitter. “She must have had them drawn up and just waiting—” Paul cut himself off. “There was a note. She’s with her bother. They’ll be coming by this weekend to get her stuff.” Paul reached into his pocket and pulled out a key. “This is the key to your bedroom door.” Dave took the key. He forgot, sometimes, that his room started off as an attic. “You can be here if you want to, but if you don’t, I don’t blame you. Just—just lock your door before you leave.” 

Dave nodded, not trusting himself to speak. 

Paul nodded himself, slapping Dave on the back. “I’ll let you get to bed. It’s late, and you have school tomorrow.” 

“‘Kay,” Dave said, quietly. Paul let himself out, closing the door behind him. Dave looked at his phone, considered calling Kurt back, and very deliberately put the phone on his nightstand. He would see Kurt tomorrow, talk to him then. Kurt had his own shit to worry about right now. 

***

Except, Dave didn’t talk to Kurt the next day. Well, he did, but—Kurt looked so happy, talking to Mercedes, joking with Dave, that Dave didn’t want to ruin his good mood. So he didn’t say anything, but as the day went on he felt his mood sour. 

He knew he was being ridiculous. He was deliberately hiding, or at least, not talking about it _deliberately._ He had no reason to feel like they were ignoring it, ignoring him. It was completely irrational. And yet—the longer he went without Kurt asking him what was wrong, without Beiste pulling him aside and asking if he was okay, without Finn or someone else from the team telling him to get his head in the game, the angrier he became. 

They were scrimmaging, keeping warm and loose; it was too late in the season for them to run drills for an entire practice. Dave tried, he did, but he couldn’t settle into the zone; he kept thinking about his mom, and the flat look in his father’s eyes, and the whistle would blow and he would charge, barreling through his teammates like a battering ram. 

Puckerman kept shooting him looks, like he better lay off _or else,_ and while that would normally make Dave shake it off, at least a little bit, he really could give a fuck, today. 

Finn called the play. Dave ran, slammed full tilt into Rashad, hitting him just right to make him spin out, bring Dave down with him, taking an elbow to the gut for his trouble. Dave lay on the ground, stunned and winded as Rashad pushed himself up to his feet. There was a ringing in Dave’s ears, and as he finally gasped in a breath he realized it was Coach’s whistle. 

“Karofsky!” She snapped, jogging over. “You hurt?” 

Dave pushed himself up, shaking his head. 

“What happened?” 

“Rashad's elbow,” Dave wheezed. 

Rashad snorted and gave Dave a hand up. “You wouldn’t have gotten it if you hadn’t come at me like a damned freight train. I thought you were gonna snap me in two, man!” 

Dave winced. Beiste was watching him. “All right,” she said. “Get back in line. Keep playing. Karofsky, come with me.” 

“Yes, Coach,” he said, and followed her a few paces back, limping the first few steps. He was gonna bruise, no lie. Rashad had boney-ass elbows, fuck. 

“Karofsky, where’s your head at?” Coach Beiste asked. She kept her voice low, but stern. She was not happy.

Dave clenched his jaw, looking away.

“Karofsky!”

Dave took his helmet off. “Just some personal stuff, Coach. Fallout from Thanksgiving.”

Beiste stared at Dave, not giving an inch. “What kind of fallout?”

“I really don’t want to talk about this out here, Coach,” Dave said. After a moment, Beiste nodded.

“All right.” She looked at her watch. “Practice is over soon anyway. Hit the showers and meet me in my office.”

“Yes, Coach,” Dave said, and jogged off the field.

Dave was just out of the shower when the rest of the team filed in, and he waited at his locker wrapped in his towels until they filed into the showers. Only a few on the team knew, the few in GSA, and they had been really cool about the locker room. He got no more weird looks than he always had for being such a hairy dude, but whatever. He owned it. And it helped keep rumors from spreading, which was nice. 

Dave changed as quickly as he could, and met Beiste in her office.

“Sit down, Dave,” she said. Dave sat.

“You know how it looks from my end, don’t you?” she asked. “One of my team, who had been working through some issues, starts to relapse. I understand, it’s hard, going through what you are. But you know why I can’t let you relapse, right?”

Dave swallowed. “Because of my temper,” he said, quiet. “I know, Coach. We’re looking for a new guy for me to talk to. The old one sucked.”

Coach Beiste sighed. “Well that’s good. But in the meantime, is there anything you need to get off your chest? Any reason that would keep me from benching you this game out of fear that you’d do some real damage to somebody? You realize you’re lucky Rashad’s got such a hard head?”

Dave winced. “I know, Coach.”

“Well?”

“I told my Mom,” Dave said, fast like ripping off a Band-Aid. “And now they’re getting a divorce because she can’t handle having a gay kid.” Dave swallowed. “And that’s not even something I’d tell my therapist, because he was a fucking quack, ‘scuse my language. And I’ve been unloading on everybody, especially Kurt, and I can’t keep doing that; I can’t be so _needy_ all the time, but then nobody seemed to notice that my whole family was falling to pieces and I just got so _mad—_ ”

Dave cut himself off, dropping his head into his hands. Beiste stood, coming around the desk and sitting next to Dave, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry Dave.” She squeezed for a moment. “Is there anybody you can talk to?”

Dave sniffed loudly and sat up, rubbing a hand over his face. He wasn’t going to cry; his face felt hot and dry, too tight for tears. His temper bubbled under the surface, but it was manageable for now, between the physicality of practice and telling someone what was going on. He thought about what she asked and nodded. He knew who he could talk to.

“Thanks, Coach,” Dave said and grabbed his bag. He paused on his way out of the room. “Oh, uh. I’m probably going to end up baking tonight.” He shrugged. “It helps calm me down. You got any requests?”

Beiste thought for a moment. “Those lemon bars were good.”

Dave flashed a grin. “Yeah. They’re pretty popular. Night, Coach.”

He slapped the doorframe on the way out of the room, and, texting his father to let him know where he’d be, he headed for Gram’s. Maybe he’d mix things up a bit, make lemon- _lime_ bars. It felt like a metaphor—they’d look exactly the same until you bit into them and then _bam!_ It was something unexpected, different, ultimately inconsequential but something people seemed to have very strong opinions about, anyway. 

It was also entirely possible Dave was also overthinking his pastries. He sighed. It had been that kind of—month. As Dave pulled into his Gram’s driveway, he realized he had never wished so hard for the holidays to be already over.


	7. 1985

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sectionals and someone is preoccupied with 19, 19, 1985. Also, the GSA holiday party. Someone's dreaming of a White Christmas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Check out the New Directions Set List!](http://minus.com/mZQwklr5n/)
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> raving_liberal made me a playlist! complete with art! (zipfile)
> 
> and as always, thanks to proxydialogue and raving_liberal for the beta!

  


Kurt wasn’t in English on Thursday. Neither was Mercedes. Dave raised an eyebrow at the empty seats, and was once again _very grateful_ that he wasn’t in glee. Kurt had been spinning in circles with anxiety the over the fact that they had finally decided on a setlist only to be told that they had to sing ‘80s songs.

“One benefit,” Kurt had said the day before, “is that our competition is all in the same boat, having to change songs last minute.”

Dave had nodded, hoping his face was properly commiserating, and tried to distract Kurt with coffee. It had worked, too, until Rachel had walked into the Lima Bean, looking like death warmed over, and Kurt had freaked out. With Rachel unable to perform, the club had to scramble double time. Dave realized he hadn’t seen either since. English turned out to be a lot more boring without Kurt there to make comments.

Dave was on his way to the locker room after classes ended when he, nearly literally, ran into Kurt. Kurt jumped back just before collision, vibrating with suppressed—something. Judging by the look on his face, it was part fear, part fury.

“What happened?” Dave asked, not sure he wanted the answer.

“Rachel,” Kurt bit out. “Was out sick today.”

“That—sucks.”

“It’s terrible!” Kurt said. “She’s got a stomach thing, which is _ew_ enough, but she’s can’t sing! Which means that not only do we all have new songs, but that we need a new soloist!” Kurt sighed. “She pisses me off to no end, but but girl has talent with a capital T and _I don’t need this kind of stress in my life!_

“Shit,” Dave said, because really, what else could he say? “Do you, you know, have someone?”

Kurt nodded. “Tina’s getting it. And really, I’m not worried about that. Not really. Tina has a wonderful voice, she’ll be fine. It’s just—” Kurt sighed. “I wish we had more time.”

Dave reached out a hand and squeezed Kurt’s shoulder. Kurt gripped Dave’s hand briefly and flashed a smile. “Thanks, Dave,” Kurt said. “I have to get back to practice.”

“Godspeed,” Dave said as Kurt ran off down the hall. He watched him until Kurt turned the corner, and Dave continued on to practice.

***

Saturday found Dave driving over to the Lima Community Theatre, and he parked his truck at the far end of the lot, next to Kurt’s Navigator. Dave had decided to arrive early in hopes of seeing Kurt before the performance and wishing him luck, like he had at Invitationals, but once inside the building, he had to rethink that plan. There was an honest to goodness *backstage* area, guarded by honest to goodness *security guards*. Dave thought it was a bit overkill; it was a high school glee competition, after all, but they were there and therefore Dave wasn’t.

So, Dave got his ticket, bought a box of Thin Mints from a Girl Scout who was smart enough to set up her wares as a concession stand, and wandered into the theatre. He’d only been here once before, sophomore year on an English field trip for a production of _The Importance of Being Earnest_. Dave had spent the trip goofing off with Az in the back, too afraid to pay attention the way he wanted to, and frustrated because he was sure he was missing half of the references; it was supposed to be a gay play, right? There wasn’t any gay that _Dave_ had seen.

Then again, sitting here, Dave wondered if that was because he wasn’t paying attention, or if the production company had deliberately played it down. It wouldn’t surprise him either way, and Dave looked around the theatre in a way he hadn’t the year before.

It looked—like a theatre. Red velvet and carpet. Brown wood. A balcony in the back. Weird side seats up high, where the second level would be, but isolated. The curtain was down and the lights were bright, and Dave wondered just what it was about the theatre Kurt loved so much. It seemed like any other assembly Dave had been to.

Dave sank into his seat, opening his box of cookies, and sent a quick text to Kurt.

_here. can’t get past bouncer, but have thin mints. success, y/y?_

The first few cookies Dave ate melted chocolate all over his fingers, and he was just giving up on figuring out a dignified way to lick his fingers when his phone buzzed. “Shit,” Dave muttered, trying to juggle the box and his phone one handed, before just giving up, shoving the box between his knees, his fingers into his mouth, and pulling the phone from his pocket.

_Making last minute adjustments to set list. Made Finn hyperventilate by suggesting Jack and Diane. Apparently, Mellencamp encourages “dangerous uniformity” and “subjugation of self.”_

Dave blinked. _that doesn’t sound like finn_

_Lol! No, Finn just freaked out. Puck “translated.”_

_im calling it theyre doing it_

_Please don’t bet on my brother’s sex life, Dave._

Dave snorted. _since im not allowed back there, break a leg_

_Will do! :D_

Dave pocketed his phone, and tucked into his cookies.

Sectionals were scheduled to begin at 11am. At 11:10, the front rows filled with the other competitors. Dave saw Kurt up front, in between Mercedes and Finn, but Kurt didn’t see him. At 11:20, a frazzled looking woman walked onto stage, apologized for the delay, introduced the judges (nobody Dave recognized, but also nobody who Dave would think would know music. What does the head of the electrician’s union to know about show choir?), and turned the stage over to the first group.

They weren’t bad, but their lack of practice time was obvious. Dave recognized Wham!, which was a damn shame, because he was going to be humming _wake me up before you go-go_ under his breath for the next, like, month. They also did “Karma Chameleon” and, of all things, the “Pina Colada Song”, which Dave would have sworn wasn’t ‘80s at all. The applause was lukewarm at best, and when the curtain rose again, it was on the Warblers.

Dave sat up a little straighter in his seat. It was the least he could do with Sebastian up there. He wished Seb could have been in New Directions, because rooting for the Warblers (to come in second, only. He could never root for anybody over Kurt) felt weird.

The Warblers stood, heads down on the darkened stage. A spotlight appeared on Blaine as he chanted.

_Let me hear your heartbeat.  
Let me feel your heartbeat.  
Let me touch your heartbeat.  
I gotta change your heartbeat._

The rest of the Warblers came in then, singing the melody in ooh and ahh, bumps and bahs, and breaking up into a complicated choreography. Dave frowned as he watched. The song was familiar, but he couldn’t quite figure it out. Blaine broke free of the group and began to sing.

_Children behave  
That's what they say when we're together  
And watch how you play  
They don't understand  
And so we're_

_Running just as fast as we can  
Holdin' on to one another's hand  
Tryin' to get away into the night  
And then you put your arms around me  
And we tumble to the ground  
And then you say_

“Oh no, he isn’t,” Dave muttered, eyes wide. But even if Blaine could hear Dave, he wouldn’t care as he grinned his “leading man” grin and danced like Tiffany.

_I think we're alone now  
There doesn't seem to be anyone around  
I think we're alone now  
The beating of our hearts is the only sound_

Oddly enough, as Dave watched, he began to feel as if Blaine had been born into the wrong decade. He could probably pull off that Duran Duran thing. He certainly had ‘80s pop princess down. Dave had to admit, as much as he _sincerely disliked_ Blaine, the guy was good. But there was something _hollow_ about his performance, some lack of emotion, maybe? Dave certainly felt like Blaine was performing.

Dave closed his eyes when he realized his line of thought. How on Earth did he learn enough about performing to _know_ that? He almost sounded like he had a real _opinion_ about this.

Kurt would be proud.

On stage, the Warblers surrounded Blaine as he finished with the heartbeat chant, and the music shifted, and it sounded almost like—like violins? Blaine began to sing once more.

_Poor old Johnny Ray  
Sounded sad upon the radio  
He moved a million hearts in mono  
Out mothers moved sing along, who would blame them  
Now you're grown (so grown up)  
So grown (so grown up) now I must say more than ever  
Toora loora toora loo rye aye  
And we can sing just like our fathers_

The rest of the Warblers joined in here, and they sang the chorus as a group. Dave almost laughed. There was something funny about _Blaine_ singing to _Eileen_ , and it was probably wrong for Dave to think that way, but whatever.

_Come on Eileen, Oh I swear (what he means)  
At this moment, you mean everything  
With you in that dress, oh my thoughts I confess  
Verge on dirty  
Ah come on Eileen_

Sebastian stepped from the crowd as Blaine stepped smoothly back, and took the next verse. Dave raised his eyebrows. The difference between the two performers was marked; where Blaine gave nothing but polish, Sebastian applied that polish to real emotion—granted, there wasn’t much emotion in _Come On, Eileen,_ but still.

_These people 'round here  
With their beat down eyes sunk in smoke dried faces  
They're resigned to what their fate is  
But not us, (no never) no not us (no never)  
We are far to young and clever  
Come on Eileen  
Toora loora toora loo rye aye  
I've been on this toon forever_

Dave found himself nodding his head to the music. Kurt was right; the Warblers were competition. Still, as the Warblers sang the rest of the song as a chorus, Dave was pretty sure the New Directions would pull out something special.

Then the music shifted again, Sebastian still in the spotlight, and Dave sat up straight. _This_ song he knew. If Sebastian had a theme song, Dave was pretty sure this was it, and if he sang it half as well—

_Sometimes I feel I've got to  
Run away I've got to  
Get away  
From the pain that you drive into the heart of me  
The love we share  
Seems to go nowhere  
And I've lost my light  
For I toss and turn I can't sleep at night_

Sure enough, when Sebastian started to sing, when he started to _move_ , he practically dripped sex appeal, filling the words with the feel of desperate back-alley hookups and fleeting meetings on the dance floor. He sang of something so wrong it felt right, and Dave shot a look at Kurt, but couldn’t see him in the dark.

Sebastian seemed to be speaking to every person in the audience at once, even pointing and winking at one point, and Dave would swear that he was pointing at him, teasing him.

_Once I ran to you (I ran)  
Now I'll run from you  
This tainted love you've given  
I give you all a boy could give you  
Take my tears and that's not nearly all  
Oh...tainted love  
Tainted love_

There was something raw about the performance, just enough emotion behind the sex that Dave was able to pull away, to look at his friend with new eyes. He’d never seen Sebastian as someone who would feel such longing; he played the playboy so very well, but—Dave wondered what story was there. Now that he’d looked away, he could see the look on the other Warblers’ faces, the elation at such a powerful performance. But he could also see the darkness on Blaine’s face. _Heh,_ Dave snickered. _Jealousy is so ugly._

The Warblers finished with a flourish and Dave cheered. Sebastian deserved it, if nothing else. The judges seemed impressed, too. Maybe too impressed.

Dave saw movement out of the corner of his eye as the New Directions filed out of the room. Dave pushed the little thrill down. Kurt was going to perform soon.

There was one more group before New Directions, and Dave watched the Warblers enter the auditorium as this other group sang their first song, “Maneater.” Dave remembered the song from when he was young, watching as his mother danced while doing chores, way back before everything. A funk settled over him that lasted through the next song, “Maniac,” which he knew from his Aunt Julia’s obsession with _Flashdance_ , though it started to lift when they finished with “Jessie’s Girl.”

The curtain went down, and Dave put the cookies away and waited. The curtain raised and Finn was alone on stage, washed in blue, and he sang:

_I can feel it coming in the air tonight, oh Lord  
And I've been waiting for this moment for all my life, oh Lord  
Can you feel it coming in the air tonight, oh Lord, oh Lord _

_Well if you told me you were drowning, I would not lend a hand  
I've seen your face before my friend, but I don't know if you know who I am  
Well I was there and I saw what you did, I saw it with my own two eyes  
So you can wipe off that grin, I know where you've been  
It's all been a pack of lies _

The rest of the New Directions men walked onto the stage behind Finn, singing the chorus with him.

And I can feel it coming in the air tonight, oh Lord  
Well I've been waiting for this moment for all my life, oh Lord  
I can feel it coming in the air tonight, oh Lord  
Well I've been waiting for this moment for all my life, oh Lord, oh Lord

The lights flashed and they stuck their poses, singing along as a group and Dave felt himself shiver. While Sebastian had put some real emotion behind a polished performance, Finn’s singing was _all emotion_ ; he was good, yes, but it was the _hurt_ and the _loss_ in his voice that made Dave shiver. He hadn’t anticipated this depth of feeling from Finn, and by the look on Puck’s face when he looked at Finn, there was _something_ going down. He hoped they figured it out soon.

Everyone on stage was singing harmony, but Finn could still be heard, bitter:

_Well I remember, I remember, don't worry, how could I ever forget  
It's the first time, the last time we ever met  
But I know the reason why you keep your silence up, oh no you don't fool me  
Well the hurt doesn't show, but the pain still grows  
It's no stranger to you and me_

The drums crashed and the girls seemed to appear on stage between one flash and the next, and they danced, singing the chorus as they twined around each other in a tango that looked as angry as it looked passionate. And through it all, Finn sang.

_I can feel it in the air tonight, oh lord, oh lord, oh lord, oh lord  
Well I've been waiting for this moment for all my life, oh lord, oh lord, oh lord_

As his last “oh lord” fell away, the music picked up, the tango becoming something much more complicated, much faster paced, wilder and less constrained, and Puck got the spotlight as he wove through the dancers, singing to the audience as he danced to the top of the risers on the back of the stage:

_Last night a little dancer came dancin' to my door  
Last night a little angel Came pumping ‘cross my floor  
She said "Come on baby I got a licence for love  
And if it expires pray help from above"_

In the center of the top riser, and Puck raised his fist high and practically screamed, as the audience screamed with him:

_In the midnight hour she cried "more, more, more"  
With a rebel yell she cried "more, more, more"  
In the midnight hour babe "more, more, more"  
With a rebel yell "more, more, more"  
More, more, more._

Puck jumped off the risers, playing it up, singing to all the girls in glee as he _stalked_ forward, and if Dave wasn’t already so far gone on Kurt, he’d have fallen for Puck right then and there, because _damn._

_She don't like slavery, she won't sit and beg  
But when I'm tired and lonely she sees me to bed  
What set you free and brought you to be me babe  
What set you free I need you here by me  
Because_

Now Puck was at the front of the stage, and he played to the crowd, seeming to draw from their energy, playing with them and teasing them as they sang with him.

_In the midnight hour she cried "more, more, more"  
With a rebel yell she cried "more, more, more"  
In the midnight hour babe "more, more, more"  
With a rebel yell "more, more, more"_

Even the judges seemed mesmerized when he growled the next lyrics:

_He lives in his own heaven  
Collects it to go from the seven eleven  
Well he's out all night to collect a fare  
Just so long, just so long it don't mess up his hair._

Then something changed, and Dave wasn’t sure if he was the only one who noticed it, because nobody else seemed to react, but the next verse was _directed_ at somebody, and he knew it was, because Puck seemed to change, just ever so slightly, and he wasn’t playing with the audience anymore, he was pleading with—Finn. He was pleading with Finn, right there on stage for everyone to see, but nobody was looking.

_I walked the world with you, babe  
A thousand miles with you  
I dried your tears of pain, babe  
A million times for you_

_I'd sell my soul for you babe  
For money to burn with you  
I'd give you all, and have none, babe  
Just, just, justa, justa to have you here by me  
Because_

And just like that the moment passed, Puck the Sex Shark back on stage, teasing the audience in the final chorus, nobody but Dave realizing that Puck had just _professed his love for Finn on stage at Sectionals_ ; not even Finn seemed to realize.

“Shit,” Dave whispered, but there was no time to dwell, as the group moved into their next song, Puck’s chanting of “more, more more” fading seamlessly into the drumbeat of the next song. Tina got the spotlight and started to sing in a clear voice. Dave felt his eyebrows raise; he didn’t think he’d ever heard Tina sing before, and now that he _had_ heard her, he didn’t know _why;_ She was good. Kurt’s ranting about how much of a solo-hog Rachel was made more sense, now. It really was a good thing that she was too sick to sing.

Tina came in smooth and surprisingly sensual.

_I guess I shoulda known  
By the way you parked your car sideways  
That it wouldn't last _

_See you're the kinda person  
That believes in makin' out once  
Love 'em and leave 'em fast_

_I guess I must be dumb  
Cause you had a pocket full of horses  
Trojan and some of them used_

The beat picked up, and Quinn joined in, joining Tina centerstage.

_But it was Saturday night  
I guess that makes it all right  
And you say what have I got to lose?  
And honey I say_

The group came in then, singing along with Tina and Quinn:

_Little red corvette  
Baby you're much too fast  
Little red corvette  
You need a love that's gonna last_

Quinn took the lead, now with Tina backing her, technically perfect, but lacking a bit of Tina’s—Dave wanted to call it “sass.”

_I guess I shoulda closed my eyes  
When you drove me to the place  
Where your horses run free _

_Cause I felt a little ill  
When I saw all the pictures  
Of the jockeys that were there before me _

_Believe it or not  
I started to worry  
I wondered if I had enough class_

Then Tina and Quinn were singing in harmony, backed by the rest of the group once more;

_But it was Saturday night  
I guess that makes it all right  
And you say, "Baby, have you got enough gas?"  
Oh yeah _

_Little red corvette  
Baby you're much too fast, yes you are  
Little red corvette  
You need to find a love that's gonna last_

Mike and Sam joined Tina and Quinn, and the girls sang to the boys in counterpoint to each other:

_A body like yours (a body like yours)  
Oughta be in jail (oughta be in jail)  
Cause it's on the verge of bein’ obscene  
(Cause it's on the verge of bein’ obscene)_

Mike and Sam seemed to roll with the music, a move that was, like the man said, on the “verge of being obscene” and Dave wondered if _all_ show choirs performed this way; he might have to seriously reconsider his opinions of them.

_Move over baby (move over baby)  
Gimme the keys (gimme the keys)  
I'm gonna try to tame your little red love machine  
(I'm gonna try to tame your little red love machine)_

The group came together once more, and they danced as a group, singing the chorus. Instead of the next verse, however, the music shifted, subtly, and Dave sat up straight as Kurt took the spotlight. There was a look on Kurt’s face that Dave had only dreamed about before, something heavy like—like velvet, a rich purple that was almost black, a hungry sensuality that was just as captivating as Puck—no, _more_ captivating because it was _Kurt_ and he moved with such _grace._ Dave swallowed, thickly.

_Dig if you will the picture  
Of you and I engaged in a kiss  
The sweat of your body covers me  
Can you my darling  
Can you picture this?_

Kurt swiveled his hips, and Dave followed every movement. This was even worse—better—than _Push It_ ; then Kurt had been a kid, budding and playful, but rounded pink innocence just the same. Now, on the other hand, Kurt had done more than blossom—blossom implied something delicate. Kurt had firmed and sharpened, childish youth carved away to leave the man on stage, seemingly perfectly crafted to make Dave pant.

Kurt sang out to the audience, eyes seeming to search, and Dave wanted to be seen and wanted nothing more than to hide; he was too exposed like this, his desire plain to see, and he couldn’t—Kurt stopped searching, and Dave held his breath; it looked like Kurt had found him.

_Dream if you can a courtyard  
An ocean of violets in bloom  
Animals strike curious poses  
They feel the heat  
The heat between me and you_

Dave couldn’t believe Kurt was singing to him, no matter how much he wanted to, and oh, did he want to believe. Kurt practically poured himself into the chorus, and Mercedes picked up the harmony, singing behind him.

_How can you just leave me standing?  
Alone in a world that's so cold (So cold)  
Maybe I'm just too demanding  
Maybe I'm just like my father too bold  
Maybe you're just like my mother  
She's never satisfied (She's never satisfied)  
Why do we scream at each other?  
This is what it sounds like  
When doves cry_

Dave was aware that the group was dancing, simple choreography that looked good with little rehearsal, but he couldn't look away from Kurt, who had moved on from unconscious sensuality to something much more teasing, and far more knowing. And at the same time, more aware of loss.

_Touch if you will my stomach  
Feel how it trembles inside  
You've got the butterflies all tied up  
Don't make me chase you  
Even doves have pride_

If Kurt was singing to Dave, he wouldn’t have to chase him. Not for long. Not ever, but especially not after this. Kurt sang out the chorus, voice filled with such longing that Dave had a hard time staying in his seat.

The music slowed again, and Santana stepped forward, singing out slow and mournful as the rest of the group faded into the background, into the shadows, and off stage, the staging mirroring the first number.

_I never meant to cause you any sorrow.  
I never meant to cause you any pain.  
I only wanted to one time see you laughing.  
I only wanted to see you laughing in the purple rain._

This was the Santana Dave had met over the summer, the one who loved so badly it _hurt_ , and Dave could see the tender expression on Brittany’s face and, thank God someone up there was happy.

Santana sang the first chorus herself, singing to the judges, to the audience.

_Purple rain, purple rain.  
Purple rain, purple rain.  
Purple rain, purple rain. _

_I only wanted to see you bathing in the purple rain._

The rest of New Directions slowly filtered back onto stage and Santana sang to each as they passed by, but they didn’t acknowledge her, as if she were a ghost in a crowd.

_I never wanted to be your weekend lover.  
I only wanted to be some kind of friend.  
Baby I could never steal you from another.  
It's such a shame our friendship had to end._

The girls danced behind Santana on the stage as the guys gathered at the back, spaced along the risers, singing out with her.

_Purple rain, purple rain.  
Purple rain, purple rain.  
Purple rain, purple rain. _

_I only wanted to see you underneath the purple rain._

Santana continued the last verse alone,

_Honey I know, I know, I know times are changing.  
It's time we all reach out for something new,  
That means you too.  
You say you want a leader,  
But you can't seem to make up your mind.  
I think you better close it,  
And let me guide you to the purple rain._

The girls shifted back as the guys moved down until they were a solid choir; the lights finally rising on the stage as they filled the auditorium with gospel-song.

 

_Purple rain, purple rain.  
Purple rain, purple rain._

_  
_

Santana cried out, to anyone who would listen:

 

_If you know what I'm singing about up here.  
C'mon raise your hand._

_  
_

Dave’s hand shot up, along with the rest of the audience, moved by the amount of power contained in such a small group. The song ended with a flourish and the sudden silence held everybody captive for a solid moment before the applause began. Dave was on his feet, stomping and cheering, his half-eaten box of cookies forgotten as he yelled. The New Directions left the stage, vibrant and energetic, and everyone was dismissed for a brief intermission while the judges deliberated.

Dave wasn’t going to let security stop him this time, and he followed the crowd until he found a secluded place to slip away. Then, he was backstage and heading toward excited voices. There were so many people, he couldn’t see them, but it was okay, because Santana found him first.

“CUBBY!” She yelled, and it was his only warning before he was hit by a latina-torpedo, and nearly bowled off his feet.

“‘Tana!” He laughed, hugging her tight and spinning her around off her feet. “You were amazing!”

“Of course I was!” Santana laughed, hitting his shoulders until he put her down. “I’m a fucking star!” Dave grinned, but before he could make a comeback of any kind, Kurt was there.

“Dave!” And Kurt was in his arms, and Dave squeezed, lifting him off the floor. Kurt just laughed, and wrapped his legs around Dave’s for balance. “You said there were too many guards!”

“Yeah, well, you didn’t tell me you had a fucking _solo!”_ Dave shot back. “If I’d have known, I would have tried harder.”

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” Kurt said, face pink.

“It was,” Dave said.

“Well, well,” Sebastian said from behind Dave. “You a groupie now, Cubby?”

Dave rolled his eyes, and lowered Kurt to the ground, ignoring the heat in his face, because if he ignored it, it wasn’t happening. He held out his hand to Sebastian.

“You weren’t half-bad, yourself.”

Sebastian smirked, taking the hand. “You know you want me.”

Dave rolled his eyes, spying the rest of the Warblers over Sebastian’s shoulder. He tensed, bracing himself for a confrontation, but a woman in all black with a headset rushed by, telling them to take their places.

Kurt grabbed Dave’s hand as he moved to go back to his seat. “Come on,” Kurt said. “You can watch from the wings.”

And so, Dave found himself anxiously waiting by the side of the stage where he could just see Kurt and Santana huddled together. The judges stood at the front of the stage with the microphone, the one in the center holding an envelope. He looked giddy, but the other two looked a bit--put out. Dave bit his lip with worry as the one judge toyed with his emotions, and drew out the announcement.

“And the winner...is...A TIE!”

“What?” Dave said, and heard the question echoing around the room.

“Between the Dalton Academy Warblers and the McKinley High New Directions! Congratulations, you will both be going on to the Regionals Competition in March!”

Dave could see Santana clearly mouth “The. Fuck?” and Kurt slowly shake his head. Even the audience was a bit poleaxed, and the choirs left the stage in an awkward silence.

“It’s okay,” Kurt muttered as he fell into step next to Dave. “We’ll just have to trounce them at Regionals. We have time, now. We just need something big.”

“You can do it,” Dave said.

“Yeah,” Kurt agreed. “We can.”

 

***

Dave had expected there to be some confrontation between the Warblers and the New Directions, or at least, between Blaine and Kurt, (and Dave did hear Kurt mutter something that sounded like “Baby penguin, my ass!” as he passed Blaine, but Dave had to have misheard. Right?) but the mood was subdued behind the scenes, and the New Directions simply gathered their things and made their way to the bus. Dave said his goodbyes in the parking lot, and made his way home.

Paul was on the couch, still in pajamas. His beard was rougher than usual; he hadn’t trimmed it in a few days. After the ambiguous ending earlier...

Dave joined his father on the couch, looking at the television. Adam Richmond was trying to eat a five pound burrito, and Paul rotated his cup as he watched. Dave caught a whiff of woody alcohol as Paul drank from the cup. He wondered how long Paul had been sitting here. Then, he wondered how long he planned to stay.

Turned out, Paul planned to stay until Sunday night, finally dragging himself upstairs to bed. When Dave woke for school on Monday, Paul was showered and shaved, brewing coffee downstairs. Dave paused in the doorway, watching his father putter around the kitchen.

Paul paused when he saw Dave and smiled. “Breakfast?” Paul asked, his voice showing the effects of the weekend, even if he didn’t look it. Paul coughed.

“Sure,” Dave said, and Paul grabbed eggs from the ‘fridge as Dave sat at the table. Dave wanted to ask: was it just a weekend bender? Was it going to be a thing? What would he find when he came home tonight?

But how could he ask that? There was no way Dave could—no. It was nothing. A one off. His wife just left him to deal with their gay son. Dave would drink, too.

Paul placed a plate of perfectly cooked eggs in front of Dave and Dave ate mechanically, not tasting anything.

***

Monday, Kurt was a man on a mission.

This was of no surprise to Dave, not really, but Kurt still managed to catch him off balance more often than not. It was the last week before the holiday break, and Wednesday was the last day. The whole week was half days, and Kurt had managed to secure the choir room for the last GSA meeting of the calendar year, so they could sing carols at their holiday party (“If people want, Dave. I’m not going to force them to sing; I’m not _Rachel._ _”)_

Dave was charged with baked goods, but instead of heading to his Gram’s, Dave headed home with his groceries. He wanted to be there when Paul came home, just in case.

But first, cookies. Christmas cookies for the Christmas party. He mixed a triple batch of sugar cookie dough, knowing not all of it would make it to the cookie tray, and dug out his cookie cutters while the dough cooled in the ‘fridge. While they cooked, Dave mixed up drop spice cookies, and he was contemplating actually making a fruitcake, just to be perverse, when Paul came home.

“You’re early,” Dave said.

Paul shrugged. “Holiday week. Nobody was staying late, and I realized I had no reason to, either.” Paul put his briefcase in the hall and surveyed the cooling cookies.

“You can have one,” Dave said, not looking, and sure enough, when he did, three were missing. So was Paul. Dave shook his head.

No fruitcake, Dave thought, but he wanted one more type of something. A quick google search later had him searching his kitchen for yeast and something to act as filling for sufganiyot. The idea of something more complicated than cookies appealed to him; it would let him focus on the baking and not on the hundred and one things he didn’t want to focus on. And Rachel would appreciate the acknowledgement of Hanukkah. Puck would, too, but he’d express it through appreciation of the food rather than one of Rachel’s diatribes.

By the time the sufganiyot dough was rising, and the sugar cookies had been rolled and cut, Dave began to hum, then sing softly under his breath;

“It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas...”

***

Dave considered himself lucky that he only burned himself once frying the sufganiyot, and even that was a tiny little speck from a drop of oil that had splashed back out of the pan. They had smelled amazing, and he’d had to test a few the night before. You know. To make sure they were edible and everything.

He dropped them off in Beiste’s office, the only place where they wouldn’t be touched until school let out, and headed to homeroom. It wasn’t that Dave didn’t enjoy his own baking, or, really, that he was used to it. Just, normally, he ate enough while baking that he didn’t really crave any afterwards. It was rare enough that he was preoccupied by daydreams of fried dough that he decided that they were worth making again. Maybe he’d try doughnuts next time.

Mmm. Homemade jelly doughnuts.

It didn’t help that nobody was really doing anything in class the last week. Most of his classes gave him a free period, which left a lot of time for daydreaming. By the time school ended he was starving, and he hurried to Beiste’s office to collect his goodies and get to the choir room.

The room smelled like pizza and Dave nearly moaned at sight of the tower of white boxes. Dave put his sweets on a little table to the side, which already held candy canes and geldt, and bee-lined for the pizza. A small line had already formed, and by the time Dave had snagged a few pieces, most of the club had gathered, and were either in line behind him, or chatting in groups.

Dave spotted Kurt talking to Mercedes and Sam and headed over, stuffing half of his first slice into his mouth as he went. Oh, blessed cheesy-tomatoey-bread. It was lukewarm, but Dave didn’t care. It just meant he had to eat quickly, which he was more than okay with.

“Oh, Dave, slow down, you’re going to choke,” Mercedes said, catching sight of him. Kurt turned and flashed him a grin before biting into a piece of crust.

“I’m fine,” Dave said, knowing it sounded more like _“mm fmm”_ and not caring.

“That’s a valuable skill, there, Cubby,” Santana said as she walked past. “You’re going to make some guy very happy, someday.”

“Fmmm mff,” Dave scowled after her, but he couldn’t feel too bad about it when Mercedes had to hide her giggles behind her hand. Kurt turned delightfully pink, and the more time went by the more Dave started to think that was a good thing. But the best was the panicked expression on Sam’s face. Dave swallowed his pizza and smiled at him. Sam broke out of his shock with a snorted laugh and a bemused shake of his head.

“She is determined to embarrass you, isn’t she?” Sam commented.

Dave shrugged. “It’s only embarrassing if I let it be. It’s her way of saying she likes me, I think.”

“And you can give it back as good as you get,” Kurt said, brushing cornmeal off his hand.

“Yet another valuable skill,” Dave quipped, smirking at Kurt a little. Kurt raised an eyebrow in return and Mercedes cleared her throat.

“So what did I see you carry in before, Baker Man?”

Dave looked over to her. “Uh. Spice cookies. Sugar cookies, and some sufganiyot, which are—”

“Fucking _amazing,_ _”_ Puck said, coming over. He had powdered sugar over his mouth and trailing down his black shirt, and he was licking jelly off of his fingers.

“Noah!” Rachel admonished. “Language!” She turned to Dave. “But he’s right. These are very good.” Dave thanked her, noticing she had some sugar sprinkled over her fugly-ass holiday sweater.

“Oh, dear God, _burn it!_ _”_ Dave heard Kurt whisper, and he had to fight to keep from laughing as he thanked her. Dave caught sight of Puck’s face as Rachel walked away, and raised an eyebrow at the freakin’ glower on his face. There was some real dislike going on, and Dave was pretty sure it wasn’t because Rachel called Puck on his language.

Sure enough, when Puck saw Dave’s look, a fleeting look of “shit! caught!” flickered over his face, before he disappeared behind a look of faintly-dim “tsk-whatever,” and he stuffed another sufganiyot into his mouth. A brief look at the others told him they hadn’t noticed the exchange, and Dave nodded, wondering just how much Puck hid from everybody and hoping Finn, at least, got his head out of the sand (and out of his ass) long enough to see what was in front of him.

Dave spent the rest of the part bouncing between Kurt, Santana, and the dessert table. The ___sufganiyot_ ,_ _he was pleased to see, were the first to go.

When Rachel couldn’t stand it anymore and started to sing carols (and where the fuck did that piano guy come from? He wasn’t there a minute ago, Dave would swear to it), Dave grabbed a cookie shaped like Rudolf and went to stand with Kurt.

Over the next half-hour the glee club sang various carols in various pairings (and personally, Kurt and Mercedes singing an acapella duet of “Silent Night” might be one of the most beautiful things he’d ever heard), and even some non-glee members got up to sing a few songs (especially once Kurt wrested the microphone from Rachel’s hands).

“Why don’t you sing a song, Cubby?” Santana said, nudging his arm with her shoulder.

“What?” Dave asked.

“Yeah,” Puck said from his other side. “You ain’t half-bad. Get up there and hum a few bars.”

“Oh, no...” Dave shook his head. “I couldn’t.” Him? Sing in front of people? No. Way.

Puck snorted. “Wuss,” he said. “I’ve heard you in the locker room. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

He—“You heard that?” Dave asked in a horrified whisper.

Puck rolled his eyes. “We’ve all heard that. You don’t always wait until everyone leaves, you know.”

Dave groaned, covering his face with his hands.

“It’ll impress Ladyface,” Santana muttered, leaning into Dave to pull his hands away. Dave used it to glare at Santana, because fuck if that wasn’t enough to make him want to try.

Rachel was bickering with Kurt and Mercedes about the next song, and Finn was standing _almost_ with the group, rolling his eyes. Shue was trying to mediate, and the piano guy took the opportunity to grab some cookies.

“Come on,” Puck said, grabbing Dave’s shoulder and propelling him towards the piano. He sat Dave on the stool facing away and sat in front of the keys himself. Santana trailed behind and leaned up against the piano, mostly blocking Dave from sight. Dave shook his head, but appreciated the gesture. “I’m gonna play something. Feel free to join me.” Puck smirked. “If you dare.”

Dave rolled his eyes, but nodded, and Puck began to play. It was a familiar song, one that had been missing; one he knew by heart thanks to his Gram’s obsession with Bing Crosby, and with the oddly warm weather they had been having, it was surprisingly apt.

Puck began to sing the first verse, but it didn’t sound—right. Dave began to hum along, trying to get the rhythm at the right pace, the lyrics at the right pitch, and finally just started to sing along as the lyrics repeated. Puck dropped away, leaving Dave to sing on his own.

Dave closed his eyes, pretended he was at home in his shower, remembered every Christmas with Gram watching _White Christmas,_ and sang:

__I'm dreaming of a white Christmas,  
Just like the ones I used to know.  
Where the tree-tops glisten,  
And children listen  
To hear sleighbells in the snow._ _

__I'm dreaming of a white Christmas,  
With every Christmas card I write,  
"May your days be merry and bright,  
And may all your Christmases be white"._ _

Dave stopped, listening to the piano fade out and realized that the choir room was _silent._ He took a deep breath, and glanced up at Puck—trying _not_ to think that he should have let well enough alone, should have fought harder to not sing—and saw Puck grinning at him. He looked around the choir room.

Most of the GSA was looking at him in some sort of shock. The football players recovered the fastest—if what Puck said was true, their shock was more that he sang in public than that he sang. Beiste and Pillsbury were beaming at him, and Sylvester had a calculating look that Dave didn’t like _at all._ Shue looked poleaxed, then—oh, no—also a bit calculating. Dave remembered how Shue had reacted to learning that Dave could dance and knew that there would be some kind of _talk_ in his future.

Rachel looked like a fish, mouth opening and closing without sound. “I think she’s stuck,” Dave muttered, and Santana snorted softly behind him.

“We can only hope.”

Finally, Dave looked at Kurt. There was surprise, yes, but it paled next to the was Kurt was grinning.

“Dave!” Kurt finally said, rushing over. “You—that was wonderful! I didn’t know you could sing, too.”

Dave shrugged, knowing his face was heating up, but he couldn’t look away from that smile. “In the shower, mostly. And along with the radio.”

“And you’re a baritone,” Kurt continued, mostly to himself. He ran his eyes over Dave, and Dave didn’t think Kurt realized what he was doing, he certainly wouldn’t do it in public if he did, not the first time, anyway, and Dave fought the urge to shift when Kurt bit his lip.

Rachel found her voice. “Why aren’t you in glee?” she demanded. “With that voice, we could do such _amazing things,_ you—” She turned to Shue. “Why isn’t he in glee?”

“Uh, I—” Shue managed to get out before Rachel spun back to Dave.

“You need to be in glee!”

“No,” Dave said, wincing inside a little bit at the way Kurt seemed to deflate a little at that. “I can’t—not on stage.”

“But—” Rachel began, but stopped when Shue put a hand on her shoulder.

“Rachel,” he said. “We can’t force people to be in glee if they don’t want to be.” Dave wasn’t sure, but he thought Shue looked a little guilty at that, and he was pretty sure he was imagining the way his eyes flicked to Finn for a moment. “The decision is up to David.”

Dave relaxed a bit at the unexpected support, but then Shue looked to Dave and said, “But for the record, I think you should join, too. Between your dancing and your voice, you’d be a great addition.”

“He’s right,” Kurt said quietly. “I saw you during the ‘Thriller’ game, you know. You’re a great dancer, too.”

Dave looked over at Kurt and was torn. He really _didn’t_ want to sing on stage. He was happy to be there as a groupie, really. But if joining glee would get him closer to Kurt, it was something that bore thinking about.

So Dave thought about it, and after a long moment, shook his head. “I’m sorry. Between football playoffs and hockey starting and this,” Dave said, waving his hand to indicate the GSA, “it’s just too much.”

Kurt didn’t look happy, but he nodded, accepting Dave’s logic.

“If that’s your decision, that’s fine, David,” Shue said, and Dave looked over at him. “However, if you change your mind, we’d be happy to have you.”

Dave nodded. “Thank you, Señor Shue.”

Shue smiled and shook his head at Rachel when she opened her mouth to argue. Rachel folded her arms with a pout, but acquiesced. Still, Dave didn’t like the way she was looking at him.

“Well, if you sang once in public, you can do it again,” Kurt said, and practically shoved Puck off the piano bench. Puck stood, laughing slightly, and joined Finn by the drinks. “Sing with me?”

Dave’s breath hitched just a little, so little even he barely noticed it, but he nodded, and Kurt winked at him and began to play.

__Christmas is coming.  
The goose is getting fat.  
Please to put a penny  
in an old man’s hat._ _

Dave grinned, and came in for the round, knowing Kurt was going easy on him, and Santana joined on the next round, then Mercedes on the next, and by the time Finn had joined, most people had stopped paying so much attention to Dave.

Kurt grinned at Dave before he started to wind down the song, and Dave realized that he really _did_ want to sing with Kurt. Just once, a duet. A _real_ duet, like they had in the musicals. And the thought scared him enough he missed his next line, and had to drop out and come back in. _One day,_ Dave thought, once the song ended. _It’ll happen._

_But he still wasn’t joining glee._


	8. Christmas at Ground Zero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas with the Hudmels and New Years at Sebastian's. Duck and cover with your yuletide lover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super Mega thanks to my betas, raving_liberal (who was on my ass until I finished this) and proxydialogue (whose death threats were an excellent motivator.)
> 
> This is the last chapter of The Holidays, meaning the plot stops advancing here. There will be an Epilogue. (It's mostly smut.) 
> 
> Cubby and company will return in the sequel The Musical, which will air late next month. Ish.

  


The next day, school ended before Dave was ready, which was a weird position for Dave to be in. He’d never felt more comfortable at school than at home before. Maria’s absence lay like a fog over everything in that house, and Paul was no better, moving through the motions when he needed to, but like a ghost of himself otherwise.

They had planned on a small Christmas this year, just the three of them. Gram and Papa were going out to California to visit Helen, and Julia and Cliff were bringing the baby to his parents’ for the holiday. Dave really wasn’t looking forward to spending Christmas alone in the house while his Dad just faded. 

Kurt caught up with Dave just outside of the school, slipping his arm though Dave’s as they walked. Dave smiled at him, thrilling at the way Kurt seemed to fit against him. 

“So I am going to see you over break, yes?” Kurt said. 

“Uh, yeah. Sure,” Dave said, perking up. “I’d like that.” 

“Good,” Kurt said. His nose and ears were slowly pinking from the cold. The wind picked up and Kurt huddled closer to Dave. “I, um. I might have gotten you something. For Christmas.” 

Dave blinked in surprise. “You didn’t have to do that.” 

“I know,” Kurt said. “It’s nothing expensive, but it’s something I wanted you to have. So, you know, don’t worry about it.” 

Someone called Kurt’s name, and when Dave looked, he saw Finn and Puck waiting at Kurt’s Navigator, bouncing against the cold. 

“I have to go. Dad’s looking over Finn’s truck, so I’m playing chauffeur.” Kurt pulled away and walked backwards towards them. “Call me later?” 

“Yeah,” Dave waved. “Will do.” 

Kurt grinned, and jogged over to his car. Dave waited until Kurt dug out his keys before heading to his truck. He climbed into the icy cab, glad the snows hadn’t started yet, but _fuck_ was it cold. He started the engine and rubbed his hands together as it warmed up. 

Shit. Kurt had gotten him a present, which meant Dave had to give one back. There was so much he _wanted_ to give Kurt, but—there was a line between gifts he could give as a friend and gifts he could give as a boyfriend, and if he went over that line he’d be a total creeper. Dave was pretty damn tired of being a creeper. 

Dave dropped his head onto his hands on top of the steering wheel. _Fuuuuck._

***

Dave _hated_ the mall. Yeah, the arcade was cool, and he was lusting after half the stock at William Sonoma, but there was something about the building—maybe it was the smell of recycled air and stale food court, maybe it was the constant presence of cranky toddlers and bored teenagers—that was just _depressing._ It set Dave’s teeth on edge. Luckily, getting there before the work day ended, it wasn’t too crowded. It was still more crowded than Dave would have liked. 

But there was no way around it. Between this drama and that drama, Dave hadn’t bought _anybody_ a present. 

Gram was easy. Well, mostly easy. He found her gift no problem—a spring-loaded cake pan to replace the one Dave had singed over a year ago that she had never replaced. It was leaving William Sonoma afterwards that was the real problem. 

Papa got a large box of marzipan, like Dave got him every year. Last year, Dave had asked him if he wanted something different, and Papa had shaken his head, saying that it was the only time he got it, and he looked forward to it. Problem solved. And if buying Papa marzipan meant he could buy himself some butterscotch candies while he was at it? Well, then everybody wins. 

Paul was trickier. Dave ended up buying him the first season of _Breaking Bad_ on DVD. Paul denied he watched the show, but Dave had caught him enraptured on more than one occasion, staring in a way that made Dave glad his father didn’t have that extensive a background in chemistry. 

Dave didn’t buy Maria a present. 

Done with the “easy” gifts, Dave bought a custard from a Kohr Bros, and sat on a bench to think. Only Kurt’s present left. 

What did Dave know about Kurt?:

1\. He liked fashion  
2\. He liked to sing  
3\. He liked musicals  
4\. He spoke French  
5\. He was gay  
6\. He was smart, but bad at math  
7\. He knew about cars  
8\. He kicked ass at racing games  
9\. He took his coffee with cream and sugar, latte when he could. He added chocolate when he was feeling down and caramel when he was excited.  
10\. He liked cheesecake. 

Dave blinked. That’s it. He’d make Kurt a cheesecake. Caramel cheesecake. With some kind of toffee or mocha crunch. Yeah. 

Except—

Food was something you got someone you liked, but didn’t know what else to get them. And how awkward would that be? Getting him a whole cheesecake? 

Dave slumped on the bench. Well, he’d keep it in mind if he couldn’t think of anything else. 

He finished his custard and threw away the napkin. The mall was starting to fill, so Dave took his packages out to his truck. He’d leave them here while he looked for Kurt’s gift. 

Dave re-entered the mall through Barnes and Noble, and paused to browse. Maybe a book? Couldn’t hurt to look. 

As he browsed through the new releases, he realized he had no idea what Kurt read. Fiction? Non-fiction? Was he a reader at all? Dave didn’t want to get a book if he wasn’t going to—

A familiar script caught Dave’s attention. _Oh, hey!_ Dave thought and picked up the book. He leafed through the pages, pausing now and then to read a caption. He turned to the next page and froze. 

Dave closed the book. He knew what he was getting Kurt for Christmas. 

***

Dave hung his keys on the hook, and leaned back to rest against the door. He was officially on vacation and all he wanted to do was sleep. There was music playing in the kitchen, but it sounded funny. Dave frowned, and then realized it sounded off because his father was singing along. 

“Dad?” Dave called out as he entered the kitchen. His father was still in his work clothes, but he had rolled the sleeves of his shirt up and was wearing the apron Dave favored, black with the Guinness Logo. Paul was whisking something in a bowl, and from the sharp vinegar smell, it was some kind of vinagrette. Dave looked around the kitchen. The table was set for two (they hadn’t set the table since before Maria left), and there was a large salad on the table. Dave sniffed, and underneath the vinegar he smelled cooked beef and onion. “You cooked?” 

“Dave!” Paul said, grinning. “You don’t need to sound so surprised.” Paul put the bowl with the vinaigrette on the counter and fished out an old shaker bottle. He poured the vinaigrette into the shaker, capped it, and put it on the table. “I can cook.” 

“I know you can,” Dave said, walking over to the sink mostly on autopilot to wash his hands. “You just—haven’t. Recently.” 

Paul hesitated a fraction of a step, his smile dimming briefly. “Well,” he said, seeming to recover, “I am tonight.” 

Dave shut off the water, drying his hands on a dishtowel, and smiled, a little surprised to find the smile was real. “I can see that,” he said. 

Dinner was good—real good. Like it was before Maria had left. Paul asked about Dave’s schoolwork and Dave asked about life at the office. Dave had just finished his steak, and was thinking about thirds on the potatoes, when Paul said: 

“I ran into Carole Hummel today.” 

“Oh yeah?” Dave asked, and went for the potatoes. They were amazing: creamy and slightly cheesy and stayed delicious even as they cooled. 

“Mm hmm,” Paul said. “At the grocery store. She asked about our holiday plans, and when I mentioned that it’s be just us, she invited us over for Christmas dinner at their place.” 

Dave froze, spoonful of potatoes in his mouth. “Mm?” 

“I tried to decline, but she was very insistent. Apparently it’s rather casual at their house. She said Kurt and Burt hadn’t really celebrated since Burt’s first wife passed, and she and Finn usually had Finn’s friend Puck over. So last Christmas, they had a low-key thing and it worked well.” 

Dave finally swallowed the potatoes around the excited lump in his throat. Christmas with Kurt? “Sounds great.” Dave said. 

“Excellent!” Paul said. “Because I already told her you’re bringing dessert.” 

***

Thursday, the first official day of Winter Break, Dave decided to spend some quality time with his XBox. He woke mid-morning, staggered downstairs for coffee and half a box of Entenmann's Doughnuts, and shut himself in his room with _Call of Duty, Left 4 Dead, Assassin’s Creed 2,_ and _Ghostbusters._

But the games couldn’t seem to hold his attention, and his eyes kept drifting towards the bags from the mall. 

On the screen, the zombies ate his avatar (again), and he dropped his controller in disgust. He looked over at his headset. Az would probably be on; he usually was on their first free day, and he and Dave had made it a thing to play. Dave could log on and see. Or, he could continue to be a chicken, and wrap his presents. 

In years past, wrapping presents was something his mother had done, leaving him only her present to wrap, and he usually stuck it in a bag and called it done. But—well—that wasn’t happening this year, and he wasn’t going to put Kurt’s present in a bag. He needed to put a little more effort into it than that. 

So, he left his room to dig up supplies. His gifts were surprisingly easy to wrap, and he only got his hands tangled in the tape once on the pan for Gram. Hey! Cylinders are hard!

By the time his father called up that lunch was ready, Dave only had Kurt’s present left. Dave shook his head at the pattern that was forming. _Get a grip, Dave, and leave the drama to the glee club._ He places the present on his desk and cleaned up the scraps of paper that littered his floor before making his way downstairs. He had some alterations to make before he could give Kurt the gift, and he’d best do it on a full stomach. 

Later that night Dave looked down at the wrapped parcel. The paper was striped, and Dave had managed to wrap it so all the stripes lined up: it looked seamless. Perfect. Like something Kurt deserved. 

The next day Dave went downstairs for breakfast and found his father at the table, beard a mess and eyes bloodshot, drinking coffee that smelled more like whiskey than Maxwell House. Dave didn’t speak as he cleaned the counters, rinsing out the bottle in the sink, and put on toast and fresh coffee. Paul drained his mug, and Dave handed him a plate of toast and a fresh cup of coffee and a bottle of water, and never said a word. As Paul nibbled on his toast, Dave sat down with a cup of his own and made a grocery list. 

Dave left the kitchen, stomach turning over, and changed out of his sleep pants and into jeans and a fresh shirt. He grabbed his letterman and his keys, and on the way out the door called out to Paul: 

“I’m going to get the stuff for the cheesecake. Try to be sober when I get home,” and slammed the door behind him. Dave sat in his truck for a few minutes before pulling out of the driveway, and if he told himself it was to let the engine warm up, and not because his hands were shaking, that was his own business. 

Dave didn’t need much at the store. A lemon, some heavy cream for whipping, and Skor bars (or Heath bars, if he had to). He had some spice cookies left over from a few days ago, so that was covered. He needed cream cheese. And because he was there, and it was a shit day already, he grabbed a pack of Oreos and a can of chocolate frosting because, while he could make it himself, it defeated the point of being decadent and lazy. 

Paul was in the shower when Dave got home, and he took it as a good sign. He put his bags on the table, and started pulling the rest of the ingredients out and onto the counter. He worked, pre-heating the oven, crumbling cookies for crust, mixing the filling. Once the cake was in the oven, Dave checked the recipe. He’d have to do the topping in the morning, but that was all right. 

Finally, Dave sat at the table, pulling over the Oreos and opening the frosting. He twisted the oreo open, and licked off the frosting. He took the cookie and scooped up some of the chocolate frosting popping the whole thing into his mouth, before repeating with the other cookie. It was wonderful. Dave kept his eyes on the cake as he ate, and when Paul came into the kitchen, freshly showered and alert, Dave offered him a cookie. 

Paul hesitated, but took the cookie with a soft “thanks.” 

An hour later, Dave put the cake in the refrigerator to cool, and joined Paul in front of the television. Paul was flipping through the channels, clearly not intending to stop on any one, when Dave saw a flash of blue feathers and men’s socks, and said, “Wait! Back up.” 

Paul backed up the channels until he found what Dave had seen. On screen, Bing Crosby and Danny Kaye were lip synching _Sisters_ , and Paul finally cracked a smile. “Mom loves this movie,” he said. 

“I know,” Dave said. 

That night going to bed, Dave wished, briefly, that he still believed in Santa Clause. If nothing else, the ritual of putting out the cookies would make the day seem more _real._ More like Christmas Eve. 

Dave missed his mom with a sharp pain in his chest and he sat heavily on the side of his bed. _Maria_ he didn’t miss, with her unthinking cruelty and blind prejudice. But his _mom,_ who would sing carols and trim the tree and wrapped his presents—Dave missed her like crazy. 

And Dave crawled under his covers with that loss tight like a knot in his throat, and he cried as quietly as he could until he fell asleep. 

***

Christmas Dinner was at three, so Dave and Paul drove over a little after noon, and Dave stood awkwardly on the porch behind his father, holding a cake carrier that had seen better days, with his hands still smelling like caramel. 

Carole opened the door, wishing them a merry Christmas, and telling Paul he didn’t have to when Paul handed her a bag of gifts from them. Dave saw Kurt skid to a stop behind her, hastily smoothing his hair and the vest he wore—and it was a good thing that Dave had thought to wear a button down himself, the green one that Santana had said brought out his eyes (okay, she had said it “makes your eyes show more than you double chin,” but Dave was pretty sure that meant it looked good on him), as he finally almost met Kurt’s level of dress. Kurt himself was almost dressed down, the vest a simpler cut and the shirt underneath a soft green that complimented the gold hummingbird brooch he wore. Dave was just able to smile at Kurt before Carole turned to him, exclaiming over the cake carrier. 

“[Caramel crunch cheesecake](http://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/Toffee-Crunch-Caramel-Cheesecake-231417),” Dave said, as he handed it over. “It can go in the fridge, but it should be fine on, like, the counter until we eat.” 

“Yo—you made a cheesecake?” Kurt said, peering over Carole’s arm. Kurt sniffed and his face turned _hungry_. 

Dave shrugged, determinedly _not_ thinking about the ways in which he _wanted_ Kurt to make that face, or other ways he could _make_ Kurt make that face, and followed Kurt when he plucked the cake carrier from Carole’s hands and brought it into the kitchen. 

Already it smelled like turkey and stuffing and cornbread, and Dave pressed a hand to his stomach when it started to grumble. Kurt shot him a sympathetic look. 

“I know, it smells amazing, right? I can’t wait until dinner, I could eat the whole turkey myself.” 

“You’d have to fight Finn for it,” Dave said, perching on a stool as Kurt started rearranging things in the ‘fridge to make room for the cake, and yep, that was Kurt’s ass and yep Dave was staring. Whoops. 

“I could take him,” Kurt’s voice drifted from the ‘fridge. “He may be Frankenteen, but I’m wily.” 

“I’d never bet against you, Kurt.” 

Kurt grinned over his shoulder, and Dave hoped he was able to pull his eyes from Kurt’s ass fast enough, though there was probably little he could do about the flush on his face. Maybe he could blame coming in from the cold? It was hot with the oven on...

“You better not,” Kurt said, and straightened, closing the refrigerator door. “Come on, Puck and Finn are playing video games upstairs. We can join them, or we can take over the television. I think TBS has _A Christmas Story_ on repeat, or we can watch those creepy claymation cartoons or something.”

Dave was kind of Christmas movie-d out after yesterday, but he really didn’t care what he did as long as he did it with Kurt, and really, if Puck and Finn were really playing videogames and not “playing videogames,” Dave’d eat a hockey puck. “Movies sound good,” Dave said, and followed Kurt into the living room and sat on one end of the couch while Kurt grabbed the remote. 

The room looked much the same as it had the last time Dave had been over, save for the giant Christmas tree set up in the corner. It was decorated with colored lights, unevenly strung and screaming of Finn’s handiwork. Dave knew it must drive Kurt crazy, but was a testament to how much Kurt and Finn really were brothers now that Kurt let it be. There were the prerequisite kindergarten-through-third-grade-or-so craft ornaments, a set of “glass” balls that came from someplace like Walmart, a few from local tourist traps, and New York, and even a dreidel that must have been Puck’s. Sure enough, on the ledge next to the tree, was a menorah, free of candles because the holiday was over, but there. 

Yeah. And Puck and Finn weren’t a _thing._

Under the tree were the presents that the Hudson-Hummels must have unwrapped that morning, as well as a few presents still wrapped, and the bag that Paul and Dave had brought over. Dave bit his lip looking at that bag. He _really_ hoped Kurt liked his present. 

Their parents were in the dining room, talking about something too softly for Dave to hear from the living room, but not, like, secret-soft, just normal inside voice soft. And maybe Dave was getting paranoid or something, because what would they be talking about that they couldn’t talk about with them in the room, and _wow_ was that a direction he didn’t need his brain to go in. 

But none of that mattered because when Kurt sat down, he sat down _next to Dave._ And not in the next seat over, but so that their arms brushed and their knees touched, even when Kurt sat with his legs pressed together. Dave swallowed, but Kurt just turned on the TV, and rubbed his arm with his free hand. 

“Do you mind?” Kurt asked softly. “It’s just—with the oven on, the rest of the house gets kinds chilly, you know, but it seemed silly to wear a sweater if I’m going to be in the kitchen, so—”

“It’s fine,” Dave said, and before he gave it permission, his arm wrapped up and over Kurt’s shoulders, rubbing gently at Kurt’s upper arm. “Better?” he asked, because he was sitting with his arm around _Kurt Hummel_ and if he could balls this out he could balls anything out _and please, Kurt, say it’s okay!_

And Kurt smiled, face entirely pink, and nodded. “Much. Thank you.” 

“Anytime,” Dave said because he wasn’t _actually_ stupid and anything that let him touch Kurt more often (and just plain _more_ ) was a good thing. 

Kurt turned on the TV, and settled on _A Christmas Story._ Dave couldn’t really focus on the movie, not with Kurt _right there,_ but he was able to at least snicker at the appropriate points. After a few minutes, Kurt started to mutter under his breath, comments and observations about the characters, that had Dave biting his lip as he tried not to laugh out loud. He couldn't stop himself from shaking, however, and Kurt rolled his eyes. 

“You _can_ laugh at my jokes, you know.” 

Dave grinned. “I’m afraid I’d miss something if I laughed too loud.” 

“Well,” Kurt said, “I’d just have to tell it again next time.” 

“Yeah?” Dave asked, raising an eyebrow at Kurt’s profile. Kurt grinned, and turned, ready to snark something back, and froze, gasping out a short breath at how close they were, and Dave smelled peppermint and wondered if Kurt would taste like candy canes, and he was leaning in, ready to find out, and Kurt wasn’t moving away, was _fuck_ moving closer, and—

Paul’s laughter was loud as he lead the way into the living room, and Dave and Kurt jerked apart, Dave’s arm falling back into his lap, as they shifted apart and hoped their parents wouldn’t notice. 

“Oh, I love this movie,” Carole said, sitting next to Kurt on the couch. Burt claimed an easy chair, the same one he sat in at Thanksgiving that Finn walked _extra careful_ around, so it must be “Burt’s Chair,” and Paul sat on a chair Dave hadn’t seen before, but looked like it might have been from Kurt’s room. It was tasteful in a way that spoke of Kurt, but not of the rest of the house. Dave wondered, trying desperately not to think of the kiss-that-wasn’t, how much input Kurt had put into the design of the house. 

Dave was still unsettled, convinced that if he breathed wrong that everyone would know he and Kurt almost kissed, and they couldn’t know. Not yet. Not until he and Kurt figured themselves out, if there was anything to figure out. 

Puck and Finn, both wearing Santa hats that managed to look adorably goofy on Finn and like something from a “sexy Santa” calendar on Puck, came down the steps as Ralphie was kicked down the slide by the mall Santa, in each other’s space and tripping over each other like Golden Retriever puppies who hadn’t quite figured out their size. It was obvious, to Dave anyway, that those two were much closer than they used to be, closer physically like they had never heard of personal space. Dave wondered who they thought they were fooling, and remembered that he was the only one who actually believed there was anything going on. 

Finn sat on the floor in between Kurt’s legs and Carole’s, and Puck stretched out sideways, head propped on Finn’s legs. Dave raised his eyebrow and looked to Kurt. _You believe me now?_

Kurt rolled his eyes, but Dave saw him shooting Puck and Finn suspicious glances. 

Around two, Carole disappeared back into the kitchen with Kurt, and Dave found himself drifting along after them, helping where he could (usually by standing out of the way, then finally being tasked with making the gravy) and just enjoying the ease at which everything was progressing. In years past, even when nobody was fighting, the Holidays were stressful. Someone in his family was always ready for a fight, tense for reasons Dave thought were petty, because _it’s Christmas, for fuck’s sake._ But there was no simmering resentment, no secret code of she doesn’t like her or he’s fighting with him written into the biscuits or the turnips. The turkey was a turkey and not a metaphor for someone’s existential angst. The green beans hadn’t cheated on the cranberry sauce. The mashed potatoes weren’t coming out of the closet in a fit of pique. 

Dave found himself relaxing, not despite himself, though it kinda felt that way. More, he relaxed in a way he hadn’t thought he’d be able to yet. By the time the turkey had be carved and they were seated around the table, Dave was laughing more than not, teasing—why pretend?— _flirting_ with Kurt, joking with Puck and with Finn, teasing his father about his mashed potato addiction. He didn’t think of his mother, or her family. He didn’t think of Thanksgiving or the fall out because, dammit, Dave deserved to be happy and family made him happy and for the first time in a month, _Dave felt amongst family._

He felt so at home, in fact, that he jumped up to help clear the table without prompting, shrugging it off when Carole said he didn’t have to. “I’d like to,” was all he said, and ducked his head when he saw Kurt beaming at him out of the corner of his eye. 

Once the table had been cleared, and Puck and Finn had stopped moaning about overeating, (something Burt and Paul had also been guilty of, to be honest. Kurt deliberately ignored the way Burt had fallen on the turkey and the stuffing, and Dave had hidden a smiled when he noticed Paul surreptitiously loosen his belt under the table) Dave pulled his cheesecake from the ‘fridge. 

Kurt was at his side before Dave was able to close the ‘fridge door, leaning over Dave’s arm to get a good sniff. “Are you sure we have to bring this out? I mean, I don’t want them to feel bad when all they can do is look at it.” 

Dave raised his eyebrow and Kurt grinned at him. “If you honestly think I’m going to leave any for them, you’re out of your mind.” 

Dave laughed, and Kurt dug back into the ‘fridge, pulling out a pumpkin pie and frowning at the ‘fridge door. “Dammit,” Dave heard him mutter. “We forgot the whipped cream.” 

“Do you have any heavy cream?” Dave asked. Kurt pulled out a carton and shook it.

“Carole bought it for the potatoes. It’s about half-full.” 

“Perfect,” Dave said, and rolled up his sleeves. “I need a mixing bowl, vanilla extract, powdered sugar, and a whisk. Cream of tartar, too, if you have it. If not, it’s cool.” 

Kurt raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment as he gathered the ingredients. He handed Dave the bowl, and Dave poured in the cream, eyeballing the sugar and the vanilla, and started to whisk. If he was being honest, an electric mixer would have been faster, and easier, but, well—mixing by hand showed off his arms in a way the electric mixer never could, and Dave had seen the way Kurt’s eyes had focused on his arms as he had rolled up his sleeves. He wasn’t an idiot. 

“I will never get tired of this,” Kurt said. “It’s like watching Andre the Giant with a kitten.” 

Dave snorted. “I’m not that big,” Dave said. 

“No,” Kurt said. “But you’re just as manly.” 

Before Dave could figure out the comment, or even reply to what had sounded like _lust_ in Kurt’s voice—oh, please, let it be lust!—Carole came back in to make coffee. She looked a little taken aback by Dave whisking cream in her kitchen, but she recovered fast enough. 

“Oh, I forgot the whipped cream, didn’t I?” She shook her head. “You don’t have to, Dave.”

“It’s okay,” Dave said. “I just hope you didn’t have plans for the heavy cream.” 

“Nothing that this isn’t an improvement on,” Carole said. “Thank you, Dave, it’s very thoughtful.” 

“It’s no big,” Dave insisted and checked the cream. Soft peaks. Almost there. 

It was completely worth it for the worshipful expressions on Puck and Finn’s faces when they realized Dave had made the cheesecake. And the way Kurt smacked their hands away. Just for that, Kurt got the first, and biggest, piece. 

The cheesecake was a success, and Dave sat back with his cup of coffee and an indulgent smile as he watched Kurt, Finn, and Puck battle for a second piece. Even Burt, in that sneaky way fathers had, managed to snag more for himself. 

After dessert (and Dave was in no way smug that there was no cheesecake left. Not at all), Carole ushered them back into the living room to open presents. Finn plopped down in front of the tree and began to dig through the presents. Puck flopped next to him, while Dave tried not to cheer that he and Kurt managed to snag their same seats from before. 

Dave had gotten most of his presents from his father at home: iTunes money, more tape for his hockey stick, new laces and soakers for his skates, and the Kitchenaid standing mixer that Dave had been eyeing in (he thought) secret for months. Paul had shrugged it away, saying that with all the baking Dave had been doing lately, it should come in handy. Dave thought there had to be more to that, but he had a feeling it was tied up in Maria, so he didn’t push. 

Which was why he was surprised when he opened one final present from his Dad: an iPad. 

“Dad!” Dave sputtered. “You—!” It was too much, Paul had already spent too much. 

“I figure it’ll come in handy,” Paul said. “You know, when you’re away at college. It’s got Face Time, so you’ll have to keep in touch with your old man.” Dave blinked, but nodded, knowing what his father wouldn’t say in front of the group, but not knowing how to convey that Dave didn’t _need_ Paul to buy him things as an apology. Even if the swag was nice.

“Sweet!” Finn said. “Dude, you have to get Dragonvale. Trust me.” 

Kurt rolled his eyes. “We got iPads on our birthdays, and Finn has been bugging me about that game. Please get it so he’ll leave me alone.” 

Dave laughed. “Can do.” 

It was because of the iPad that Dave didn’t notice that Finn had given Kurt his present, and it wasn’t until he heard Kurt say, “Oh, Dave! Thank you!” that he realized, and felt his heart skip in his chest. He looked up.

“What’d you get?” Puck asked. 

“The Postsecret Book,” Kurt said, distracted, as he read over the inner cover. Dave watched as Kurt started to flip through, as he realized there was a bookmark almost halfway through. So, Dave saw the moment Kurt realized what was on those pages: their secrets, the trio of locker room photos from the previous year. He saw Kurt smooth his hand over the last image, tracing “forgiven” gently with his fingers, with such a soft look on his face. He saw Kurt bite his lip as he flipped over the bookmark to see Dave’s latest secret. 

It was simple. There was a [picture](http://image.timepassagesnostalgia.com/watermarked/images98/9842lifesaver.jpg) of a pile of familiar rainbow-colored ring candies, and written—hand written in black on a patch of white—were the words “Thank you.” 

Dave saw Kurt lean closer, and his eyes widened when he noticed the small writing on a few of the candies: “for being there,” “for not giving up on me,” “for caring when you didn’t have to,” “when nobody would blame you if you didn’t help me,” “for being an inspiration,” “for helping me learn how to be myself,” “and love myself.” Dave knew there were more, he wrote them, but they were silly things, “for helping me pass Spanish,” “for not mocking my clothes too much,” “for always sharing your gum,” but they didn’t matter as much. 

Kurt gently closed the book around the postcard, like he knew this secret was only for him, and he passed Dave a small wrapped present, his eyes suspiciously bright. 

“Here,” Kurt said, his voice deeper than usual, and he cleared his throat. Oh shit, Dave didn’t want to make Kurt cry. But when he looked for tears, Kurt’s eyes were dry, if bright, and the look on his face wasn’t sadness, even if Dave wasn’t sure what else it could be. 

Dave tore open the paper and blinked down at the small metal thing in his hand. He turned it over: it was an ipod Nano. It was an older model, still rectangular, and Dave looked up at Kurt. An iPod?

“The iPod’s nothing,” Kurt said, quietly. “It was, like, ten dollars on ebay. But, um, I kinda filled it for you. So, you’re not quite done unwrapping it yet.” 

Dave looked back down, and turned the player on. The menu popped up, and Dave started to flick through the songs. They were all either songs he knew and liked, or artists he liked but songs he’d never heard, and Dave wondered how long it had taken Kurt to compile all of these. Finally, he hit a playlist labeled “Merry Christmas Dave” and he opened it. The tracks were numbered, not named, and there was something odd about the way the tracks looked. 

“Did you record these?” Dave asked, quietly, letting Puck’s joy over new guitar strings, enough for a year, and a dinosaur guitar strap from Finn, cover the question. 

Kurt nodded. “These aren’t songs that you would necessarily listen to, I don’t think. But—they’re all songs that made me think of you, or say things that I don’t know how to say myself.” 

Dave grinned, felt his cheeks twinge but _did not care_ because he had been around the glee club long enough to know what it meant when one of them gave you song. Especially when they sang that song. 

“I love it,” Dave said, meaning _I love you._

“Me, too,” Kurt said, drawing his fingers down the cover of the book, and Dave was pretty sure Kurt meant the same thing. 

“DUDE!” Finn cried out, breaking the moment, and Dave pulled back with a shaking breath, turning just in time to brace as Finn nearly squashed Dave into the couch in a hug. “You’re the best!” 

Dave patted Finn’s back awkwardly, and grunted when Puck whooped and joined the pile. Kurt raised his eyebrow. 

“What did you get them?” 

Dave shrugged. “I made them cookies.” 

“Double Chocolate Chip!” Puck and Finn corrected.

“Goodness,” Carole said. “Those must be some cookies.” 

“They are, Mom,” Finn said, finally pulling back. Dave breathed with relief as Finn faced Carole with his Very Serious Business face. “They’re the best.” 

“All the better because they’re fleeting,” Puck said. Well, Dave thought that’s what Puck said, since he had his face stuffed with cookie.

“How can you still be eating?” Kurt said with a small groan. 

“Worth the pain,” Puck said, trying to lick the smudged chocolate from his mouth and failing. Finn double-taked and stared, and _for real, nobody else sees this!_ Dave thought. But he couldn’t hold onto his frustration for long, because Kurt had slipped his hand down to rest next to Dave’s on the couch, and had curled his pinky finger around Dave’s own. 

“So,” Paul asked on the drive home, while Dave rubbed the ipod in his pocket idly with his thumb and was half-lost in the memory of Kurt’s touch. “Good Christmas?” 

“Yeah,” Dave said quietly after a moment. Even if things were still unsettled between Kurt and himself, there was so much more _potential_ there, and holy shit, Kurt might really like Dave. He’d been kicking himself that he hadn’t brought his headphones and he couldn’t wait to hear what Kurt wanted to tell him. 

And the next time they were alone, Dave was going to _do_ something about it, dammit!

***

Before Christmas, Dave wouldn’t have had any problem getting Kurt alone somewhere to talk, and really, they had stumbled across enough alone time that Dave wondered if, now that he _needed_ that alone time, someone, somewhere, had decided to fuck with him. Because he couldn’t get Kurt alone. 

At all. 

The Day after Christmas, Dave woke smiling when his phone trilled a text alert at him. He lay, grinning up at his ceiling for a long, dreamy moment, because he had almost kissed Kurt, and this time, Kurt wanted him to. 

Dave blinked, the reminder making embarrassment flash through him just enough to let him shake off his goofy grin and check his phone. The text was from Kurt. (And look, that grin was back). 

_Get dressed and be outside in twenty minutes._

Dave frowned, texting back a quick, _k. y?_ and flipping his covers off. Twenty minutes was enough time for a quick shower, and when he grabbed his towel to dry off, his phone beeped again. 

_10 minutes._

_fine, but there better be food_ Dave sent back and grabbed an undershirt. 

Seven minutes later, Dave was standing outside in nicer (not “nice,” but no holes) jeans, a green sweater with a band of three stripes in shades of tan that ran across his chest, and his brown leather jacket. His hand had hovered over his letterman, but he had decided not to wear it for the same reason he decided not to wear his usual layers; he wanted to look nice when he saw Kurt, wanted Kurt to give him that appreciative look, wanted to not look like a slob when he finally made a move. Because Dave wasn’t a slob, even if Karofsky kinda was. 

Dave stuck his hands in his pockets, wondering if he should go back inside for a hat, but not wanting to miss Kurt when he got here. If Dave owned a hat that went with the jacket, he’d have an easier time deciding. The door opened behind him, and Paul came out to stand next to him. Dave looked over. Paul was still in his pajamas, bathrobe thrown on over them for the cold, and he held a mug of coffee. Dave’s mouth watered. Wherever they got food had better have coffee. 

“What’re you doing?” Paul asked, sipping from his mug. 

“Kurt’s coming to pick me up,” Dave said. “He should be here—”

A horn blared right in front of the lawn, and Dave looked over, startled. 

Sebastian was parked in front of Dave’s house in his red convertible, top down, and looking at Dave from over a pair of Ray-Bans. Santana was in the passenger seat, looking like some sort of sex-kitten snow-bunny. Snow-kitten? Sex-bunny? Kurt was in the back seat, bundled and stylish, and Brittany sat next to him, gold curls bouncing under a multi-colored ear-flap hat that looked hand knit. 

Sebastian grinned, suddenly, and yelled out, “Get in, loser, we’re going shopping!”

Dave snorted, shaking his head, amused, and when he turned to say goodbye to Paul, Paul handed Dave a scarf. “Let me know if you’ll be home for dinner,” was all Paul said. Dave grinned and took the scarf. 

“Later, Dad,” he said, and wrapped the scarf around his neck while he jogged towards Sebastian’s car. 

“Hey,” he greeted everyone as he sat next to Kurt in the back. “Hi,” he said again, softer, smile turning a shade bashful. 

“Hi, Dave,” Kurt said back, just as soft, and Dave ignored the puking noises Santana made from the front, especially since Sebastian chose that moment to race off. 

“‘Bas, why the fuck are we driving with the top down?” Dave demanded, struggling with his seatbelt. 

“Because it looks cooler,” Sebastian said. “Obviously.” 

“It doesn't look cool, it looks like we’re going to get hypothermia,” Kurt shot back, and shivered in his layers. Dave shifted closer, wrapping his arm around Kurt again and trying to use his body as a windbreak. Kurt shot Dave a grateful look, and Dave’s heart fluttered in his chest. 

This...was going to be more difficult than Dave had anticipated. 

Having Kurt close, touching Kurt, fueling this growing thing between them and not able to resolve it with so many _people_ —Dave was wound tight as a wire. 

That didn’t mean Dave didn’t push it, didn’t touch Kurt as much as possible, a hand on his arm or the small of his back. The kicker came at the end, when they had decided they were done shopping, piling their bags in the trunk of Sebastian's car, and walked back to the Starbucks counter for sweet coffee drinks. Dave ushered Kurt through the door with a hand low on his back, and after Dave followed through, Kurt tucked his hand through Dave’s elbow, and they walked, sides pressed together, through the mall. 

It was startlingly public, but Dave couldn’t bring himself to care. Let them think what they wanted. He had Kurt on his arm. All was good. 

After, sipping from his cup and smirking at Dave from over his obnoxious rich–boy–skiing–in–the–Alps sunglasses, Sebastian said, “My parents are in Barcelona for the New Year. Which means party at mine. Spread the word.” 

Santana sniffed disdainfully, which Dave was probably her way of agreeing because Santana could be like that, and he found himself nodding. They’d tell the GSA. That should get a good turnout, though, Dave could already hear Berry screeching in his ear about “fraternizing with the enemy.”

Dave told the Berry-voice in his head to chill the fuck out and wondered when the fuck he _got_ a Berry-voice in his head. 

“Cubby, you’re coming,” Sebastian said. 

“What?” Dave said. He had planned on ringing in the new year with his XBox, maybe trying to crash whatever party Kurt was at. Of course, now he was _invited_ to that party. Clearly the UST was impeding his reasoning. 

“My place. New Years. You. There.” 

“Fine,” Dave said, making sure Sebastian saw him rolling his eyes. Wouldn’t do to let the smug bastard see how excited he was. 

“Come into my lair, said the spider to the fly,” Kurt muttered to Dave.

“I think I’m more bumble bee than fly,” Dave said. “Round and fuzzy.” 

“Bumble bear?” 

“Bumble _cub._ ”

“My mistake.” 

***

Dave’s bad luck with getting Kurt alone carried on over the next few days. If he went over to the Hudmels’, Puck or Finn (or worse, Burt) was underfoot. 

Tuesday, Dave invited Kurt ice skating, figuring on a nice romantic evening for two with lots of hand holding and cocoa-flavored kisses. Dave tried not to take it personally when Puck and Finn showed up. To be fair, they stayed mostly together, holding each other up as they flailed on the ice. At least they were laughing. 

Kurt was, not surprisingly, as graceful on ice as he was dancing. When Dave commented, Kurt had turned pink, saying his mother took him for figure skating lessons when he was a kid. 

Dave had fun, though he was still no closer to Kurt than before, even though he was convinced this was the strangest double-date he had ever been on, with he and Kurt not quite together and Puck and Finn not admitting to _anything._

The weirdest part of the evening happened right before the end. Kurt was on the other side of the rink, trying to keep Finn on his feet, when Dave coasted to a stop near Puck, who was braced against the side like James Dean. 

Dave gave him points for not looking like he was scared of the ice, and swallowed back the grin. “Hey,” he said. 

“Sup,” Puck jerked his chin up and they watched the Hudmel brothers for a long moment. 

Dave nodded, letting the silence stretch for a long moment. “So, you ever gonna tell Finn you love him?” 

“You ever gonna tell Kurt?” Puck shot back, no heat in his voice, but not looking at Dave at all. 

Dave blinked. There was no way he was as obvious as Puck. “What makes you think I love him?” How had he—

Puck snorted. “Dude. You gave him, like, the biggest piece of cheesecake. You always give him the _biggest piece_. If that’s not how a baker says ‘I love you,’ then I don’t know.” 

Puck had a point. “Soon.” Dave narrowed his eyes at Puck. “It was _going_ to be today, but _somebody_ crashed the party.” 

Puck looked sheepish, but not for long. “Yeah, well...” he said. The silence fell again, and Dave snickered. 

“I’m surprised at you. No comments about the ‘size of my piece’?” 

Puck did glare now, and Dave laughed full out. Puck never had quite gotten over not “measuring up.” 

“I hate you.” Puck muttered. 

“But you love Finn.” 

Puck didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to. Dave could see it in his eyes. “Tell him,” Dave urged gently. “Before he starts looking elsewhere thinking you’re just ‘helping him out.’” 

Even if Puck was going to say anything to that, Kurt and Finn’s return would have cut him off. But Puck did look back at Dave as he helped Finn off the ice, and Dave felt something in him ache at the look on Puck’s face. Dave had seen that look, one that said he _knew_ he couldn’t have what he wanted, no matter how much he wanted it, in the mirror too many times. 

_Those two better get their act together soon,_ Dave thought. After everything, they deserved to find their happiness together. 

Then Kurt was at his elbow, and there was cocoa, though no cocoa kisses, and he didn’t see Kurt in person again until New Year’s Eve. 

***

On New Year’s Eve, Dave walked into his room after his shower in just his towel and nearly dropped it in surprise when he found Kurt, Santana, and Brittany in his room, each dressed for a fancy night out. 

Brittany was the only one who _didn’t_ look, focused instead on his model planes. Santana’s smirk grew (it wasn’t the first time she’d seen him shirtless, but it _was_ the first time he was nearly naked), and Kurt quickly looked away and into Dave’s closet. Dave was sure now that the red in Kurt’s ears meant Kurt liked what he saw. 

It was a good color on Kurt, one Dave could really grow to love putting it there. 

Without Santana in the room. 

“Why?” Dave started, and shook his head. “Or should I even ask?” 

“We’re your ride,” Santana said. “And here to make sure you’re dressed properly.” 

“I can dress myself,” Dave protested. 

Santana snorted. “I remember prom.”

“You didn’t give me a chance at prom,” Dave countered, and wondered if he could get his boxers on without flashing anybody. 

“Based on what you usually—Dave, is that a _suit?_ ” Kurt stopped flipping though Dave’s clothes, staring, and Dave felt his heart thump. 

“Is that a trick question?” 

“Three suits!” Kurt exclaimed, and pulled out his summer suit, the one made of tan linen. “This is _tailored_ Dave, and _linen!_ ” 

Kurt spun, and Dave clutched at his towel reflexively. “Y-yes?” 

“You—!” 

“Papa is a tailor,” Dave offered weakly.

“I—” Kurt bit his lip and looked back into the closet, replacing the linen and pulling out Dave’s black suit. “English style...” 

“I”m not wearing a suit,” Dave said, rolling his eyes. 

“I am,” Kurt countered. It was true; it was black wool, slim lined with a waistcoat cut low in the front, with a deep red shirt and black satin tie. He even had a gold chain tucked into his waistcoat that peeked out when he unbuttoned his jacket. With his hair in an even more stylized upsweep, Kurt looked ready for a runway. It wasn’t fair. 

Dave sighed to cover his interest. “Yeah, but you wear suits to school.” 

Kurt crossed his arms and thrust out his jaw and, somehow, managed to keep the suit separate from it all. “Finn’s wearing a suit. And Puck.” 

“Puck?” Santana said, turning away from where she had been playing with Brittany’s hair. 

Kurt shrugged. “He looks like a gigolo, but yeah.” 

“Fine,” Dave said. Kurt grinned and grabbed a shirt from Dave’s closet, seemingly at random, but Dave knew better. It was a shirt Kurt had commented on before, a foresty green shot through with gold threads. It made Dave’s eyes pop, and he made a mental note to get Papa a fruit basket if it got him alone with Kurt tonight. Dave took the shirt, and Kurt moved to close the closet door and paused, eyes flashing with something like shock quickly hidden. 

Dave looked at the three and rolled his eyes. “I’m not changing with you in the room.” 

“We don’t mind,” Brittany said. “Guys are naked in front of us all the time.” 

Kurt covered his face with his hand, muttering something that sounded like “dear god.” 

“Not recently,” Santana said, calmly, mostly to Brittany, who grinned at her. She turned to Dave. “Not even to prove the rumors true?” 

“Out!” Dave said, pointing to the door.

“What rumors?” Dave heard Kurt ask as he closed the door behind them. He gently thunked his head against the wood when he heard Santana’s smoky laugh. Word of Dave’s, ahem, endowments, had circled way back in freshman year, when Puck stopped speaking to him. He thought those rumors (and they were rumors. He did _not_ have a 13 inch cock. That it was the largest on the team was, however, fact not fiction), had died a natural death when he refused to confirm them. He wasn’t ashamed, was kind of proud, but he wasn’t going to drop trou for Jewfro. 

Dave dressed as quickly as possible—boxers, pants, undershirt and shirt—before letting the others back in. As always, his eyes went to Kurt first. Kurt’s ears were almost the same shade as his shirt, and when Kurt’s eyes flashed down when he walked passed Dave, clearly assessing Dave’s crotch, Dave was both thankful and embarrassed by the slimmer fit of his pants. Yeah, Kurt knew the rumors. 

Dave shut the door behind him, went to button his sleeves, and sighed. No buttons. 

“Not bad,” Santana said, sitting on the edge of the bed, smoothing her hands over her skirt and tossing her hair. Her dress was skin tight and black, off the shoulder with a slanted hemline that started at her right knee and went up from there. She crossed her legs, drawing attention to her fuck–me–red heels that, of course, matched her lipstick. Dave wondered when his best-dyke became a Bond Girl. 

Brittany bounced on the bed next to her girlfriend, the layers of gauzy-shimmering-gold that wrapped, strapless, around her torso before flaring out into a short flowing skirt. She kicked her feet, watching the light catch on her gold sandals that wrapped, gladiator style, to the knee. Unlike Santana, Brittany's hair was up and braided with gold ribbon and a large petaled white flower over her right ear. 

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Dave muttered, going to the box on his dresser and pulling out his cufflinks, a present from Papa his last birthday. The right side went in easy, but the left— “Kurt, can you give me a hand?” 

“With what? Oh! Cufflinks?” Kurt asked, the excitement growing in his voice. 

“Yeah,” Dave said. They were an annoying part of his suit, but they _were_ part of it, so he would wear them. He held out the cufflink, and Kurt took it, his fingers brushing warm against Dave’s palm. It was only sheer force of will that kept Dave’s breath from catching from the tingle that spread from that single contact, but he couldn’t keep his breath from growing shallow when Kurt gently grasped his wrist to hold it steady, or move it while he worked. 

“Thanks,” Dave said, mouth dry. 

“Anytime,” Kurt said. 

“Would you please just fuck already,” Santana drawled. “There’s enough eyefucking to choke an ox.” 

“I don’t hear you choking,” Kurt snapped, and Dave stepped back, mood broken. He gathered his belt and tied on his shoes, secretly agreeing. The tension _would_ break soon. It _had_ to. 

Dave pulled his watch, white gold like his father’s, from his box and strapped it on as he went back to the closet to pull out the matching waistcoat. He could _feel_ their surprise as he did up the five buttons, and it felt good. He slid into the jacket and just finished settling it about his shoulders when Kurt stepped up to him, holding out a white handkerchief folded into a pocket square. Dave let his hands drop, and Kurt licked his lips before he tucked the square into Dave’s breast pocket. 

“Finally!” Santana said. “Are we ready?” 

“Yes,” Kurt said softly, and Dave nodded. They were so ready. 

***

The party was already in full swing when they arrived, just after 10pm. Sebastian’s home was a stone lion away from being a manor house, and Dave felt his jaw drop at the sheer size. He was suddenly grateful that he had let Kurt convince him to wear a suit; he wouldn’t have been happy if he had worn what he had planned on (dark jeans and a sweater). 

Sebastian answered the door, smirking at Santana and Brittany as they brushed past, openly leering at Kurt, so open it had to be a joke, and Kurt shoved him back with a hand, making Sebastian laugh. The look-over Sebastian gave _Dave_ , however, was completely genuine. 

“You clean up _nice_ , Cubby,” Sebastian said. 

“Why is everyone so surprised?” Dave grumbled. He walked in and offered his arm to Kurt. 

Kurt bit back a grin, and took Dave’s arm with a muttered, “Such a gentleman,” and let Dave lead him into the ballroom. Because Sebastian hosted the party in the ballroom. The ballroom in his _house._ Je-sus. 

There were mostly Dalton boys, the Warblers and at least half of the lacrosse team; rich boys wearing rich boy suits. The GSA was there almost in full, the undergraduates and a few of the Cheerios having other engagements. But the New Directions were there in full, clustered together near the fireplace and on the opposite side of the room from the Warblers. 

Dave heard the laugh first, bright like plastic, and his stomach dropped. Blaine. Fuck. 

“Well, that’s going to end in tears,” Kurt muttered, following Dave’s gaze to his ex. 

“Jealous tears because he doesn’t have a stud like me on his arm.” Dave grinned at Kurt and switched so that his hand was now tucked into Kurt’s arm. 

Kurt snorted. “You really ready to be my trophy husband?” 

“It’s a hard job,” Dave said, ignoring the word “husband” for now. “But I think I’m up for it.” 

Dave really wasn’t prepared for the heated look Kurt sent his way, or the way Kurt eyed him up and down. But oh, it felt good. “I’ll say,” Kurt murmured, and led them over to the rest of the glee club. 

Mercedes saw them first, and grinned. “Did we miss something here?” she said, waving her hand at them. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Kurt said. He let Dave’s arm go to give her a hug, and Dave nodded his hello to the group. 

Berry was standing in the middle, in a tea-length black dress with gold stars, and wearing heels high enough that she wasn’t the shortest person in the room, but from the way she was gripping the back of Artie’s chair, she couldn’t _really_ stand in them. And from the way she kept looking over at Finn, there was really only one reason why she wore those shoes. 

Luckily, Finn wasn’t looking back at her. In fact, Finn wasn’t looking at anybody except Puck. Dave shook his head. Kurt was right, they were both in suits, but Finn’s looked like it was right off the rack, boxy and unflattering, his tie pulled off center. And Puck _did_ look like a gigolo, or a stripper, with the tie undone and the top three buttons of his shirt open. Dave didn’t blame him for staring. 

Sam was wearing his Junior Prom suit, bolo tie and all, and Mercedes looked amazing in her dark blue dress. Quinn looked elegant in pale pink, her hair pulled back in sparkling clips. Mike and Tina had gone retro; Mike in a deep burgundy zoot suit and Tina in a 40s style polka-dot dress. With her hair curled the way it was, she looked like Dita Von Teese. It was a good look for her, and Dave told her so. 

“Tina—wow.” 

Tina giggled. “A wow from a gay man—that’s a compliment.” 

“I am a lucky, lucky man,” Mike said, grinning as he wrapped an arm around Tina’s shoulders. He had a red Solo cup in his hand, and he used it to gesture at the punch bowl—Why did Sebastian have a punch bowl? “Try the punch. It’s festive!” 

“And about eighty proof,” Tina giggled. 

Dave looked over at the crowd. Blaine had noticed Kurt trying, and failing, to fix Finn’s tie, but he didn’t look like he was going to come over. Now was a great time to get a drink.

“I think I will,” Dave said, and walked over to the punch, nodding hellos as he went. He scooped a little into a cup and sipped it carefully. It tasted—red. And strong. There were cans of soda on the next table, and Dave grabbed a can of 7UP, pouring two half cups of punch and cutting it with the soda. This wasn’t the kind of party to get trashed at, though he knew some people would. He wanted to keep his head with Kurt, just dull the edges a bit. And Kurt was driving, so it would be good luck if he drank at all. 

Dave turned around with the drinks and saw Blaine had gone over to Kurt in Dave’s absence. Blaine looked earnest as he spoke, but Kurt just looked uncomfortable. Finn was looking between the two like it was a tennis match, and Puck looked about ready to get himself kicked out. Beyond Blaine’s shoulder, Dave could see Sebastian see what was happening, saw the way his eyes widened and looked until he saw Dave, relaxing when their eyes met. He got this. 

Dave walked back over to the group, walking up behind Blaine with the drinks. It was loud enough that Blaine wouldn’t hear him coming, but he saw Kurt see him, and saw the way Kurt quickly schooled his expression to give nothing away. Dave was almost on top of Blaine before he could hear what he was saying. 

“—econd chance. Don’t you agree?” Blaine lifted his hand, like he was going to reach out to Kurt, and Dave reached over Blaine to pass Kurt his drink. 

“Here you go Kurt,” Dave said, and bared his teeth in a grin when Blaine jumped and turned. 

“Oh!” Blaine said, startled, but recovered quickly. He held out his hand with his over-polished smile, his eyes definitely _not_ on Dave’s face. “Daniel, right?” 

“No,” Dave said, and kept his hand in his pocket, leaving Blaine with his hand out. 

“Come on,” Kurt said, touching Dave’s arm gently. “There’s a few people I want to say hello to. Bye, Blaine,” Kurt tossed over his shoulder, and led Dave away. 

“That was rude,” Kurt said conversationally, and Dave eyed him carefully. It didn’t necessarily _sound_ like Kurt was mad, but— “Not remembering your name like that.” Dave grinned. 

Kurt brought him over to a cluster of Warblers, introducing him around. Dave shook hands and smiled as names like Wes and Connor and Dylan went in one ear and out the other. Kurt seemed in his element, however, laughing and catching up. It was odd; not that Dave thought Kurt hadn’t made any friends at Dalton, but still—so much had been about Blaine. Now that Kurt was out from under Blaine’s shadow, and didn’t the thought of Kurt under _anyone’s_ shadow seem _wrong,_ he shined. 

Dave knew he was grinning stupidly at Kurt. He just didn’t care. 

Kurt laughed at something—fuck, what was it? Sean? Gavin? Fuck it—said, and looked over at Dave to share in the joke, to laugh with him and yeah. Dave was in love. 

They made their way back to the others by way of some boys on the lacrosse team and Sebastian himself, who spoke to them from the lap of a rather pretty, rather tipsy boy. It took Dave a few moments to place him as one of the Cheerios. Well. Good on you. They moved on after agreeing to breakfast the next day. Which meant they were staying the night. 

Sebastian had waved a hand. “Like you were getting any sleep tonight, anyway.” And that, apparently, was that. 

Rachel had abandoned her shoes, which Dave thought was wise, but it was because she was drunk, which wasn’t. Mercedes and Sam didn’t look too happy with her, so Dave figured they were the ones who drove her there. Dave was sure _she_ wasn’t staying for breakfast. 

Finn and Puck were nowhere to be seen, and Dave nudged Kurt in a _see, they’re totally doing it!_ kind of way. Kurt just rolled his eyes, but Dave saw him look around. Brittany and Santana were slow dancing on the floor, much to the jealousy of several of the Dalton boys. Heh. 

Before Dave knew it, it was ten to midnight. The evening had passed in a whirl of conversation and laughter. He had danced with Santana to one of the fast paced latin hits that he couldn’t tell apart. Brittany and Mike had wowed everybody. 

Nobody burst into song. There was no choreography. Dave didn’t miss it. He almost believed that. 

“Ten minutes!” Sebastian called out and opened panel doors to reveal the largest flat screen Dave had ever seen. Sebastian turned it on and turned down the music to watch Ryan Seacrest act like a douche as he hosted the ball drop. 

At five to, Kurt appeared at Dave’s side. 

At three to, Dave saw movement out of the corner of his eye, and saw Blaine making his way towards them through the crowd. 

At one minute Blaine was on Kurt’s other side, hovering, but Kurt was pressed against Dave and Dave felt his heart at his throat. 

The countdown started. The room rustled as people started to pair off. 

Five. The unattached looked around for someone. 

Four. Dave raised his arm, cupping Kurt’s shoulder in his hands. Kurt smiled up at him. 

Three. Blaine shifted. 

Two. Fuck it. He wasn’t waiting. He—

Kurt placed his hand on the side of Dave’s face, and turned him into a kiss. 

Dave froze in surprise. _He_ was going to kiss _Kurt_ damnit! But—

_Oh._

Dave turned, pulled Kurt in, cupped a hand around the back of Kurt’s neck, and finally, _finally_ kissed him how he wanted. 

Kurt’s arms wound around Dave’s neck and Dave bent, dipping Kurt back, holding him steady with a hand at the small of his back, and Dave was never going to be able to touch there again without thinking of _this._

Dave was barely aware of everyone cheering around him, yelling their “Happy New Years,” but Kurt had pulled Dave’s lip between his teeth and bitten, little nips that sent sparks down his spine, so Dave pulled Kurt closer, sealing their hips together, and felt Kurt gasp against his lips, felt him hook his leg around Dave’s, and—

Nobody was cheering anymore. The silence registered with Dave in stages, and he slowly broke the kiss, chasing Kurt’s lips with gentle presses, but pulling them both upright. They stayed pressed close, chest to chest, noses touching, before Kurt whispered; 

“Everyone is staring.” 

Dave looked around. Everyone was staring, some surprised, most not. Santana mouthed “wanky” at him. Sebastian leered. Blaine looked like he had been smacked by a dead fish. 

“Let ‘em stare,” Dave said. “They’re just jealous, anyway.” 

And as the music started to play, Dave pulled Kurt in for another kiss.


	9. The Morning Comes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _So if you ever feel like you are alone  
>  After the night  
> The morning comes_
> 
>  
> 
> New Year. New Beginnings. Shades of Things to Come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HUGE THANKS to proxydialogue and raving_liberal for being so patient as I wrung this from my ink stained fingers! Seriously, you guys are awesome!
> 
> This was SO MUCH FUN! If you want updates on my writing process, you can follow my tumblr at (my sn).tumblr.com. all updates (and side stories) will be posted here and linked there. 
> 
> See you soon!

  


Dave grunted as his back hit the door to one of Sebastian's many guest rooms, the sound lost to Kurt’s mouth as Kurt pressed his body along Dave’s front. Kurt’s hand scrabbled for the doorknob as Dave pulled Kurt in closer, one hand on the back of his neck and the other slipping into Kurt’s jacket and down to cup his ass. Kurt hissed as Dave’s fingers squeezed, and he bit at Dave’s lips. 

And Dave was touching Kurt’s ass. _Yes!_

“Fuck,” Kurt bit out, and finally opened the door. 

Dave staggered back, off balance, and Kurt pushed, kicking shut the door and walking Dave back until the back of his knees hit the bed and Dave went down, bouncing. 

Kurt climbed on top of him and Dave knew he was staring, wide-eyed and disbelieving, because he had _had_ this dream before. But never in his dreams had Kurt smelled so good, or tasted like fruit punch and _want._ He’d never had that look before, either; hungry and sure and kinda wild. Kurt’s hands shook where they tangled in Dave’s lapels. Dave remembered in a moment all the little references Kurt had made to his relationship with Blaine, all the cut off comments and wistful tones, and wondered if, maybe, this was a first for Kurt, too. 

And that thought was enough to put Dave back on even footing. He reached up, grabbed Kurt’s hands and held them still. He felt Kurt stiften, suddenly unsure, and Dave sat up, pushing Kurt up and back until he was straddling Dave’s lap. Dave put Kurt’s hands back on his chest, and grabbed Kurt’s waist, slipping his hands up underneath Kurt’s waistcoat. He could feel lean muscle underneath the dress shirt. He wanted to feel more. He wanted to see. 

Dave met Kurt’s eyes and knew his smile had turned shy. It seemed silly to feel shy around Kurt after all of their history, and especially after that kiss on the dance floor, but he was, a little. So much of this had been through glance and hope, how could he be anything else? 

“Hey,” Kurt said softly. His voice was deeper than usual, and it rasped out of his throat like he hadn’t spoken for days instead of minutes. 

“Hey,” Dave said, and gently squeezed his hands, feeling the muscles shift, and he rubbed his thumbs against the cotton. Kurt’s lashes fluttered, and his eyes went dark. “Fuck, you’re pretty,” Dave breathed, and Kurt flushed. 

“I’m not pretty,” he said, but Dave shook his head. 

“Nope. You’re beautiful.” Dave raised a hand to cup Kurt’s cheek, drawing his thumb over Kurt’s cheek bone. “Handsome. Gor-geous,” Dave grinned, teasing, but still stroking Kurt’s cheek. 

Kurt closed his eyes, expression trembling on the edge of tears, before falling back, determined and oh so hot, and pulling Dave to him, kissing with teeth and tongue, licking his way past Dave’s smirk, desperate and _fuck_ , Kurt was shoving at his jacket, pushing it off Dave’s shoulders, and Dave fought it for a moment, not yet willing to let Kurt go long enough to get the jacket off. But Kurt pulled and tugged and Dave growled, ripping his jacket off and tossing it onto the floor past them, and watched as Kurt pulled his own jacket off, hands stroking the planes of Kurt’s chest, and when Kurt twisted to toss the jacket away, he came back rolling his hips, grinding their hips together and—

 _”Fuck!”_ Dave swore because that was Kurt’s _cock_ , hot and hard and pressed _fuck_ right against his own and he had never been this hard in his life and he had to touch skin—he had to—

 _”Please,”_ Dave moaned, pulling Kurt down, raising his hips— _shoving_ his hips, and Kurt was making these noises, these breathy gasps that were driving Dave crazy, but Kurt had to say it, had to say yes—

“ _Yes_ , fuck,” Kurt _growled_ and Dave fucking _dove_ for Kurt’s buttons, too tiny in his fumbling fingers, and Kurt was _talking_ , making his hands _shake_ : “Want you, _please, yes_ , want you to—I’ve been waiting, _fuck_ , waiting for you, thinking about this _all the time_ —

Dave kissed him, how could he not, and Kurt kept talking, muttering into Dave’s mouth, a litany of curses, encouraging, and Dave finally pulled Kurt’s shirt off, tossing it to the side with his waistcoat, and he held the tie in his hands for a moment, just long enough to think _next time_ , and then his hands were on skin and his mouth on Kurt’s jaw, sucking a bruise at the hinge of his neck, high where everyone would see and _know_ what they had been up to, but Dave didn’t care, and he licked a long stripe up Kurt’s neck and Kurt was shuddering in his arms, moving and writhing and it was the sexiest thing—

Kurt was pushing at Dave, pushing back, and Dave growled low in his throat because he wasn’t giving up all that _skin_ , but Kurt just nipped his ear and wiggled a hand between them to get at Dave’s buttons and that was a great idea, the greatest of ideas, and Dave pulled back to help because why wouldn’t he want to touch as much of that skin as possible? 

Then it was bare skin on bare skin and Kurt was _still talking_ , babbling about how good he felt, and, “your arms are—my God, you hairy fuck, I wanna rub myself all _over_ you, how can you _be_ so perfe— _Fuck! Yes! Touch me!_ ”

Dave grinned at that last, pressing his lips into Kurt’s neck as he undid Kurt’s belt and pushed, taking his pants and briefs that, at a less desperate moment, would be hot, but right now were just _in the way_ , and then Kurt was naked in his lap, pale skin flushed down his chest, drawing Dave right to his leaking cock and _God_ Kurt was _naked_ and—

“It won’t bite,” Kurt said, sounding way too calm, “but if you don’t touch me, I will.” 

Dave met Kurt’s eyes and held them as he wrapped his hand around Kurt’s cock, smearing precome over the tip with his thumb and pumping his fist once, teasing. 

“Fuck, you _tease_ ,” Kurt whined, thrusting his hips, trying to get more, but Dave kept his touches light, enjoying watching Kurt too much to stop. “Payback’s gonna be a bitch,” Kurt grit out, grasping Dave’s belt, and Dave stopped because he had _forgotten_ that Kurt _could touch him, too._

“Well that got your attention,” Kurt panted, and slowly, so fucking slowly—why hadn’t Dave opened his pants before—he was so hard it _hurt_ —then Kurt’s hand was in his pants, and Dave felt his eyes roll back in the _jesusfuckyesfinally_ of Kurt’s hand on his cock. 

“You—” Kurt paused, hand wrapped awkwardly around his cock. “Wait, wait, wait—” Kurt pulled at Dave’s waistband. “Off, _off!_ ” 

Dave grabbed Kurt under his thighs and surged up, standing with Kurt in his arms, and Kurt, beautiful, wonderful Kurt, braced his legs and pushed Dave’s pants down past his ass, then Dave was on the bed, kicking his pants off as Kurt pushed him back to lie flat, looking at him for a long moment, licking his lips, and if Dave could put that expression on Kurt’s face every day, he’d be a happy man. Kurt shook his head, muttering something about “size queenery,” and went up onto his arms above Dave, and that was too far away so Dave pulled him down, pushing them together, hands firm and tight on Kurt’s ass, and swallowed Kurt’s gasp in a kiss. 

Kurt kissed like he moved, wild and restless as he thrust. He pulled back and licked his palm, and Dave had a moment’s confusion before Kurt wrapped his hand around them both, spit-slick and wonderful and just like that Dave was _there_ and he was gasping, “Kurt, _fuck_ I’m gonna—”

 _“Yess!”_ Kurt hissed and came over his hand, Dave following after, smothering his cry in Kurt’s shoulder. 

Kurt collapsed on top of him, and Dave gently stroked a hand up and down Kurt’s back, settled into his fuzzy glow as he waited for their breathing to slow. 

It felt like it should have been awkward, but it wasn’t. Or maybe Dave was too high to care, buzzed on sex—he had just had sex with Kurt Hummel. Dave felt a twinge in his cheeks and realized he was grinning, and from the feel, had been for a while. Kurt raised his head, and Dave looked at him, and he didn’t even bother trying to fight the grin because Kurt was wearing one of his own. 

“Hi,” Dave said, feeling both stupid and too blissed out to care. 

“Hi,” Kurt giggled and stretched. He made a face at the cooling mess on his stomach. “Okay, next time? We have tissues handy.” 

“Deal,” Dave said, and really, what else was he going to say, because _next time!_

Kurt froze, seeming to realize what he had said, and looked at Dave, smile dimming. “You do want there to be—”

“Yes,” Dave cut him off. “I—Kurt, I really, really like you. And I want to do this with you _all the time_ , because that? Was awesome.” Dave grinned. “And if we do that the first time, imagine what we could accomplish with practice.” 

Kurt bit his lip, but he was trying not to grin, trying to be serious. “Well, _all_ the time could be impractical. Chafing can happen you know,” he teased. “What would we do in the meantime?” Kurt blinked innocently, but Dave knew what he was really asking. 

“Oh, you know,” Dave said, “Talk. Hold hands. Go on dates. I want to date you. And I’d really like to be your boyfriend.” 

Kurt did smile now, softer than his sex-edged grin, but just as bright. “I’d really like to accept.” He sat up. “But first, boyfriend, we need to shower. Will you help me get those—hard to reach places?” Kurt winked, brazen and playful, and Dave wasn’t sure what he had been expecting, why he had half expected Kurt needing to be coaxed when Kurt was the most in your face guy he knew. Dave was off the bed and in Kurt’s space in a flash, half carrying him to the bathroom as Kurt laughed. 

And in the shower, as Dave splashed water in Kurt’s face just to hear Kurt squawk, laughing as Kurt splashed back, all he could think was, _Finally_. 

***

 _There’s nothing quite like jumping into the deep end,_ Dave thought as he drifted towards wakefulness the next morning. Kurt sighed against Dave’s bare shoulder, shifting in his sleep, and Dave smoothed his hand down Kurt’s side, feeling warm skin. It was hard to believe they were where they were. 

They had pushed the limits of Sebastian’s hot water, splashing and wrestling until the touched shifted from teasing to heated and Dave pressed Kurt against the tile to feel him buck and shake as Dave jerked him off again. Kurt had sworn and gasped and pleaded and finally come with filthy words tripping from his tongue. It was hotter than Dave felt it had any right to be, almost as hot as the look in Kurt’s eyes as he sank to his knees to suck Dave’s cock. 

Dave would have been embarrassed at how quickly he had come, if Kurt hadn’t surged up to kiss him, pressing “so hot,” into Dave’s mouth with his tongue, had bit “I love how responsive you are,” into Dave’s neck, had licked “powertrip,” against Dave’s collarbone. And Dave could see that, getting your partner so worked up so quickly could be a major turn on, so Dave just kissed him back, ran his fingers through Kurt’s hair, and mouthed “favorite fantasy,” against Kurt’s temple. 

Kurt had pulled back, asked “You got any others?” with a sly grin. 

“You show me yours...” Dave had countered, which had led to Kurt slowly stroking Dave as he whispered his favorite fantasies into Dave’s ear and ground his cock into the grove at Dave’s hip. 

Dave didn’t think he had come so often so quickly since he was thirteen and his cock had become his new favorite toy. 

Kurt shifted again, raising his arms and arching his back in a lazy stretch, blinking his eyes open. 

“Morning,” Dave whispered. His voice had dropped in the night and came out as a low rumble in his chest. Kurt blinked at him, not quite processing, but then a wide grin crept across his face. 

“Morning,” Kurt said, shifting up to kiss Dave, brushing his knee against Dave’s now very hard, cock. Kurt’s eyes widened a fraction, but a pleased flush spread across his cheeks. “You are a wonder,” Kurt said, finally reaching Dave’s mouth. Dave pulled Kurt in with a hand on Kurt’s ass, and Dave knew he was developing a habit and he _didn’t care_ and felt a matching hardness. 

Dave’s grin widened. 

***

It was earlier than Dave had expected when they finally made their way downstairs wearing the rumpled remains of their suits from the night before. Kurt had insisted on his vest, as it hid most of the wrinkles, but he had foregone the tie and given the jacket up for now, draping it over his arm. Dave tucked his undershirt into his pants and kept his collared shirt open, not bothering with the rest. He’d have to press it before the next time Papa came over, but it was well worth it. 

They weren’t the first ones up. Sebastian sat at the kitchen table with a mug of coffee and what looked like the _New York Times_. 

_He would read the_ Times, Dave thought, joining him at the table as Kurt made a beeline for the coffee pot. If that contraption on the counter was a coffee-pot. It looked like a Keurig and HAL had some kind of mutant offspring. 

“Dude,” Dave said. “Why the fuck do you buy coffee when you have _that?_ ”

Sebastian looked up from his coffee and smirked, looking Dave over, and Dave rolled his eyes. Sebastian laughed. 

“Because that coffee often comes with a side of parental guilt. I prefer my coffee without.” 

Dave—didn’t know how to respond to that. Luckily Kurt handed him a mug of coffee, cream no sugar, and Dave drank to avoid a response at all. 

Kurt sat next to Dave, angled to be as close as possible while still on a separate chair. 

“Well,” Sebastian said, picking up his mug. “It’s about fucking time.” 

Kurt narrowed his eyes. “You’re entirely too pleased for news that doesn’t directly affect you. Oh god, you won some kind of pool, didn’t you?” 

“Yep,” Sebastian grinned unrepentantly, leaning back in his seat. He checked his watch. “Food should be here in a minute.” 

Dave blinked. “You ordered in?” 

“Please,” Sebastian said, standing as the doorbell rang. “I had it catered.” 

Dave and Kurt exchanged a look. Kurt broke first, snickering, and when Sebastian led the caterers to the chafing dishes Dave just now noticed on the far side of the kitchen, they were both laughing. 

Santana and Brittany joined them soon thereafter, Santana dressed in Dalton Academy sweatpants and a tank undershirt and Brittany in a Rugby shirt and a pair of rolled down athletic shorts. Brittany sat at the table and lay her head on the wood, and Santana stalked the coffee pot. She stole a piece of Dave’s bacon on her way past, and Dave frowned up at her, but was distracted from saying anything by Kurt’s foot trailing slowly up the back of Dave’s calf. 

Halfway through her coffee, Santana sat up straight. “Fuck! Cubby! You couldn’t wait two more days?” 

“What?” Dave asked, bewildered. Then— “Aw, you were in the pool, too?” 

“You cost me forty dollars!” 

“Good!” Dave said. “Teach you to bet on my love life.” 

“Is there lovin’?” Sebastian cut in. “We need confirmation for the judges.”

Kurt shook his head. “You already have confirmation of a kiss—”

“Different pool,” Santana said, waving her hand. “I have my money on LadyLips bending over for Cubby on Valentines. So if you could hold out for that long—”

“This is ridiculous,” Kurt cut in. 

“Yeah,” Dave agreed. 

“There’s no way we can wait that long. You really should have known better, Santana.” 

“Yea—what?” Dave stared at Kurt, who grinned back unrepentant. 

“Just making sure we’re on the same page,” Kurt said softly. 

“Same freakin’ sentence,” Dave said. 

“Do I smell bacon?” 

Dave turned and saw Puck in the doorway behind them, in his dress pants and nothing else. Finn was standing behind him, sleep-fuzzy and confused and dressed like Dave in his pants and undershirt from the night before. 

“Who else is here?” Dave asked, watching as Puck grabbed coffee for him and Finn, and Finn piled his plate as high as he could with eggs, waffles, and bacon. 

“That Cheerio’s still here, unless he climbed out my window.” Sebastian shrugged. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Santana snorted. “Isn’t he a little young for you?” 

“Never underestimate youthful enthusiasm and acrobatic training.” 

“Ah,” Santana said, and looked side-eyed at Dave. “You lucky boy.” 

“What?” Puck said sitting. He looked around the table. “Aw, man, did I lose the pool?”

Dave sighed and covered his face with his palm. These were his friend. Why were these his friends? 

Warm hands tugged his arm, and Dave let them pull his hand from his face. Kurt kissed him softly, right there in front of everybody, without even the drama of the New Year to spur him on. Dave heard Finn realize what was happening and drop his fork. He heard Puck asking for details on the other pool. Brittany was making a soft purring noise and Dave knew Santana was rubbing a hand on her back. 

Yeah. These were his friends. Dave threaded a hand through Kurt’s hair and held on. 

Best New Year Ever.


End file.
